


A Series of H/C One Shots for Be More Chill

by carefulren



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Hurt/Comfort, I'll add to these, Illnesses, M/M, Prompt Fill, Sick Character, Sickfic, Tumblr Prompt, Whump, at some point, hurt character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 14:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 31,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10901541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carefulren/pseuds/carefulren
Summary: These are Tumblr prompt fills! I will add to this as I fill prompts!





	1. Michael with Pneumonia

Fact: Winters in New Jersey sucked ass. Once it started snowing, it didn’t stop until it was knee deep and dangerous, yet the state would press forward as if it were a slight sprinkle.

Michael both loved and hated winter. He took pleasure in kicking the snow around and watching as chunks of it would break apart in the air then flutter back down to the ground to make friends with a different section of snow. Often times, he would lie in the snow flat on his back with both arms stretched out on either side while his Beats pulsed against his ears. He liked a good contrast, so he would blast heavy rock songs that were certainly not fitting for a silent, winter day.

But, Michael got sick literally every winter; it never failed. Sometimes he would be struck with a small cold that was more of an inconvenience then an illness while other times he was laid up in bed contemplating the meaning of life in a fevered haze.

With this year’s winter in full force, it didn’t take long until he started to feel run down, but instead of taking it easy like he normally did, he opted, instead, to push through.

Jeremy was still on edge with the whole SQUIP business, and Michael didn’t want to leave him alone during school. He knew how lost in his thoughts Jeremy could get, and both boys feared a relapse. There was no telling if the SQUIP could come back and take charge, and this left the two standing on a frozen lake with the ice cracked around their feet.

For the first few days, Michael managed well enough. A few coughs here and a few sneezes there, but he pressed through each school day with a wide smile, serving as a steady presence whenever Jeremy felt as if he might slip through the ice.

But on the fourth day, things took a turn for the worse. Michael was pulled from sleep in the middle of the night by a coughing fit tearing up his throat. He kept one hand clamped over his mouth while the other clawed at his chest as if he could somehow rip the coughs right from his lungs. For minutes he coughed and coughed until tears sprang in his eyes, and when the coughing finally tampered off, he was left gasping for breath and blinking away the dizziness coating his vision.

That exceptionally long fit sucked up what little energy that was left in Michael’s body, and he collapsed against his pillow, falling asleep almost instantly.

However, in too short a time, Michael was pulled from sleep once more by his alarm blaring from his night stand. The loud music felt like daggers piercing his throbbing head, and he became convinced that the universe was out to get him as he slapped his hand down onto the chiming device.

It was Thursday, so he only had two more days until he had the weekend to rest, but for the first time, Michael wasn’t sure he would make it. He felt chilled to the bone, yet his shirt was clinging to his sweat-soaked skin. His head felt as if it were splitting in two, and his chest felt tight and uncomfortable. Each inhale brought a faint rattling sound, and Michael frown and pressed his hand to his chest.

One, quick Google search told Michael he was facing pneumonia, but he shrugged it off. Everyone knew WebMD had a bad reputation. Nevertheless, he felt like hell; he felt worse then when he got food poisoning at Jeremy’s eighth birthday party.

But, school awaited his presence; Jeremy awaited his presence, so he swung his legs over the bed. But, when he went to stand, he ended up doubled over in coughing fit. Each cough grated against his throat, and he began to sway from the abrupt lack of oxygen. When he finally caught his breath, he was trembling hard as dark spots danced across his vision, and he could have crawled back into bed, only Jeremy’s text tone chiming off had him trudging to his dresser to dress for the day.

While the walk to school normally only took Michael ten minutes, he ended up stumbling into the school building almost twenty minutes later. He was shivering hard, and all of his surroundings were moving in and out focus. He felt drunk, like he wasn’t fully there, and he had no idea how he made it to his locker, muscle memory he assumed.

While struggling with his combination with a shaking hand, he coughed harshly into the crook of his elbow. He knew his locker combination by heart, but his swimming vision paired with a trembling hand was making it impossible. However, a warm, pale hand suddenly cupped his shaking one, and he looked up from where he was coughing to see Jeremy staring at him with furrowed brows.

“Michael?”

Jeremy’s voice was but a small squeak that left Michael shaking his head as he all but forced his lungs to function like they were supposed to.

“Hey,” he finally rasped out.

“Uh, are you okay?”

There was hesitance coloring Jeremy’s tone, and Michael plastered a smile across his lips.

“Of course!” Michael turned back to his locker combination once Jeremy dropped his hand. He fumbled with each number, and Jeremy’s looming presence behind him was only making him nervous.

“You’re shaking,” Jeremy mumbled, and Michael shifted his gaze to see Jeremy’s deep frown.

“Ah,” Michael breathed out through a light laugh. “It’s really cold out, you know?”

Jeremy took a step away from Michael. “Can you look at me for a second?”

Michael’s patience was crumbling, but he mentally counted to five before turning on his heel to fully face Jeremy. Bad mistake that was. The entire room tilted and grew dark, and he felt himself falling to the left just as everything went dark.

*****

Michael came to by something cool and damp being pressed to his cheek. He pried his eyes open to see Jeremy crouched in front of him with a wet paper towel in hand.

“Michael? Are you back with us?”

Michael’s first and only thought was ‘us?’, but one glance to the side revealed the school nurse speaking quickly into a phone by some lockers close by. 

He opened his mouth to complain about Jeremy retrieving the creepy school nurse, but he ended up being forced to bury his face into the crook of his elbow as cough after cough ripped up his aching throat.

He felt a hand drop onto his back, keeping him grounded as his vision threatened to go black once more. A second hand pat against his back, and when his coughing trickled off, he looked over with watering eyes to see the nurse, large mole and all, staring at him with furrowed brows.

“Michael Mell,” she started, voice scolding. “Are you aware you’ve got pneumonia?”

Ah, Michael thought. So WebMD was right for once. He shrugged, and the nurse tsked.

“I’ve called your mother. She’s on her way to take you to the hospital.

Michael’s entire body tensed. Hospital? Words failed on trembling lips, but luckily, Jeremy knew.

“Is a hospital necessary?” Jeremy asked. 

“With pneumonia? Very much so.”

Michael dropped his gaze. See, his issue with hospitals stemmed from staring at Jeremy’s motionless body for days and days. Hospitals equaled bad; that was his logic.

“Okay,” Jeremy responded for him, and the nurse turned on her heel.

“I’m going to wait to meet your mother at the door.” The nurse added as she started down the hall. 

Michael was shaking, and for once, it wasn’t from the obvious fever he was running. It was from fear, but he froze when Jeremy shoved headphones over his ears. He shot Jeremy a grateful look just as music began to bleed out from the headphones. 

Jeremy took a spot beside him against the lockers, and Michael dropped his head to Jeremy’s shoulder just as the rhythmic tones of Bob Marley pulled him off to a different world.


	2. Michael Sick with a Stomach Flu and Jeremy with a Sensitive Stomach

Jeremy shoves Michael’s bedroom door open. “Mich-” His words trail off just as Michael heaves into a bucket that’s cradled to his chest.

Oh, Jeremy thinks. That would explain why Michael wasn’t at school today. He takes in Michael’s glasses propped at the top of his head, revealing dark circles colored under his bloodshot eyes. His face is pale, sunken in, and his cheeks are painted with a deep red flush that would be much more concerning if Jeremy’s stomach didn’t lurch at the uncomfortable splashing sound echoing up from the bucket.

“Shit,” Jeremy mutters, clamping one hand over his mouth as all color drains from his face. He spins on his heel and makes a sharp turn toward the bathroom.

He elbows the door open and drops to his knees in front of the toilet with just enough time to heave up everything he had eaten since that morning. His throat burns as his body tenses up with wave after wave of nausea. He is weak in the stomach, and seeing other people throw up sets him over the edge. It’s, he believes, one of his many unattractive qualities.

“Shit, Jeremy…”

Michael’s shaking voice softly echoes across the bathroom, and Jeremy risks a glance back, gasping at the sight.

Michael’s braced heavily against the door frame as if that alone is the only thing keeping him upright. Despite this, his glassy eyes are bright with worry.

“I’m sorry…”

Jeremy shakes his head as he presses a hand to his stomach. Everything is still and quiet underneath his palm, thank God. He reaches up with a shaking hand to flush the toilet before struggling to his feet. To his surprise, Michael is at his side in seconds to offer a hand despite the latter swaying on his feet.

Jeremy accepts Michael’s hand, but when he’s on his feet, he doesn’t let go. He keeps one hand tightly in Michael’s while the other grips at Michael’s shoulder to keep him steady.

“You should be in bed,” Jeremy says, doing his best to work past his shaking voice to sound firm.

“I had to see if you were okay,” Michael presses, brows furrowed in concern. “I purposely didn’t text you because I know how sensitive your stomach is.”

Jeremy huffs. “Not replying to any of my texts all day only made it worse! I thought you were dead or something!”

Michael winces at the shouting, and Jeremy shoots him an apologetic look.

“Sorry. I was just worried. You never miss school.”

Okay, Jeremy isn’t lying about being worried, but that isn’t it. He depends on Michael’s grounded yet carefree presence to get him through each day. When he’s alone to his thoughts, he begins to hear the SQUIP, only faintly, but enough.

_“Jeremy, you are useless.”_

_“Jeremy, you suck.”_

_“Jeremy, you will never be happy.”_

He shakes his head and pulls his attention back to the present, back to Michael, who is fading incredibly fast in front of him.

“I’m fine now,” Jeremy reassures. He places a hand to Michael’s back, lightly pushing his friend out of the bathroom. “Besides, you are the sick on here.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Don’t argue with me, Michael Mell.” Jeremy fires out, voice unyielding but laced with concern. He can feel the heat radiating off of Michael through the latter’s shirt.

He ushers Michael back into the bedroom and helps Michael back into bed, carefully avoiding the puke bucket on the floor beside the bed as he pulls the covers up to Michael’s chin. He tucks the blankets tightly around Michael before placing a palm to his friend’s forehead, hissing at the heat.

“You’re burning up!” He yelps as he jerks his hand away.

“You keep yelling,” Michael groans, eyes scrunched up in pain.

“Shit!” When Michael winces, Jeremy gnaws at his lower lip. “Sorry,” he tries, voice much softer. “You really are burning up, though,” he whispers, concern coloring his quiet tone.

“I know,” Michael mutters out through a sigh. “But I can’t keep any medicine down.”

“Oh,” Jeremy replies absently. He glances toward the bucket and swallows down nausea threatening to take hold. He really should clean that; he should be a good friend and clean out that bucket of…

His stomach twists, and he presses a fist to his mouth.

“Jeremy?”

Jeremy sucks in deep breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth until his stomach settles. “I… Sorry… The bucket…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Michael says as he eyes Jeremy worriedly. “You should probably go so we both aren’t just,” he holds off on saying the word and only motions toward the bucket instead.

“Ah, yeah,” Jeremy says as he backs away to the door. “You’re probably right.”

“Bye, Jeremy.”

“Bye,” Jeremy whispers as he exits the room and closes the door behind him. He’s just about to start toward the exit when he freezes. His own thoughts take charge, and next thing he knows, he’s storming back into Michael’s bedroom.

“Jeremy?”

Without breathing or looking, Jeremy fumbles around for the bucket and grabs it with his arm stretched as far from his body as possible.

“Jeremy!” Michael sits up and stares at the brunet with wide eyes. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to take care of you!” Jeremy shouts, voice tight and clipped as he struggles to not breathe. He bolts out of the room, gagging as he races to the bathroom.

Michael can hear the faint gagging, and he breathes out a low, slightly confused laugh before dropping back against his pillows.


	3. Where Jeremy Drinks Green Mtn. Dew Because He Insists He'll Be Fine, But He's Wrong

You know how people often say they walk on egg shells around someone? Michael likes to put his own spin on the classic phrase.

It’s been a few weeks since the play and the fight with Jeremy’s SQUIP, and Michael’s still as tense as ever. Whenever he’s with Jeremy, he feels as if he’s navigating across a floor covered in legos or he’s hopping across furniture to avoid an area consumed by lava. Any slight misstep could yield dangerous results.

It’s not that Jeremy is acting weird, the exact opposite actually. The latter is as normal as he can be, albeit more confident thanks to a slew of new friends, but Michael cannot bear the idea of being ditched again. He spends each day watching Jeremy’s every move to see if there’s a slight swagger to his steps or a faint drop of pitch in his voice, anything that could indicate that the SQUIP still has control.

He’s sure that one day he will relax, but today is not that day. When he spots Jeremy buying a green mountain dew out of a vending machine at the mall, he panics.

“Jeremy!” Michael shouts. “You can’t! You’ll reactivate the SQUIP!”

Jeremy unscrews the bottle cap. “He’s gone, Michael. I keep telling you this.”

“But, how can you be sure!? He’s a computer embedded in your brain, Jeremy! You would need micro-surgery to remove him completely!” Michael flails his hands about as his heart hammers against his chest.

Jeremy drops his free hand onto Michael’s shoulder. “I promise, Michael. I’ll be fine.”

Empty words, Michael thinks, but he nods all the same. “If you’re sure…”

Jeremy takes a swig of his mountain dew to drive home his point. “See?” He asks, holding his arms out. “I’m fine.”

Michael can clearly see that Jeremy looks fine, but that doesn’t settle his nerves any; however, he swallows back his panic and nods.

“Good,” Jeremy breathes out as he takes another sip of his mountain dew. “Now let’s go to the game store. Some freshman told Rich that if we go in and tell a cashier ‘annihilation at its finest,’ then we can get a discount on Zombie Slayer 4.”

That, Michael thinks as he falls into step beside Jeremy, is music to his ears.

The two maneuver around shoppers until they are facing Game World with wide, gleaming eyes.

“This is going to be amazing!” Michael shouts as he races in with Jeremy hot on his heels.

They spot all of the cashiers swamped with customers, so they opt to browse and dream until one frees up.

Michael’s glancing at a Nintendo game when he turns his head to the side with questioning eyes. Jeremy is standing close beside him with his arms wrapped tightly around his shivering frame.

“You okay?” Michael asks, and Jeremy nods.

“Yeah,” he sputters out in between chattering teeth. “It’s just really cold in here.”

Michael isn’t surprised. Jeremy is always cold thanks to his scrawny frame. He slides out of his jacket and hands it to Jeremy, who accepts it with grateful eyes.

“You’re the best,” Jeremy says as he slips his arms into the jacket that swallows his small torso. It’s warm, and he breathes out a low sigh.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Michael teases as he starts toward the newest Nintendo console.

Another five minutes pass as the two browse around the store, and Michael is mentally contemplating how many kids he would have to tutor to afford two new games when Jeremy clears his throat beside him.

“My head hurts.” Jeremy whispers.

Michael’s entire body tenses up, and he turns sharply until he’s facing Jeremy. The latter is sporting flushed cheeks, which are a stark contrast against his ghostly pale face. He presses the back of his hand to Jeremy’s forehead, frowning deeply at the heat.

“Jeremy! You’re burning up!” Panic courses through Michael’s veins as his heartbeat begins to race uncomfortably.

Both glance down to the empty mountain dew bottle in Jeremy’s hand with furrowed brows, but seconds later, the bottle slips from Jeremy’s fingers as the latter reaches both hands to clutch at his head.

“It hurts really bad,” Jeremy manages through clenched teeth.

Michael’s already pulled out his cell phone to dial for an ambulance when Jeremy suddenly screams an ear piercing scream that could probably be heard all across the mall.

Jeremy then falls to his knees with both hands clutching tightly at his head, and Michael drops down beside him.

“Jeremy, hey?” He tries, but Jeremy only shakes his head before his eyes roll back. He falls into a lifeless heap against Michael’s shoulder.

“Jeremy!”

*****

When Jeremy stirs, Michael leans forward.

“Jeremy? Can you hear me?” His voice is shaking slightly, and whether that be from worry or lack of sleep, he isn’t sure.

He’s been planted in this seat beside Jeremy’s hospital bed for three days, only leaving to go to the bathroom. Jeremy’s dad has been forcing food onto him, but he couldn’t stomach much.

Jeremy groans and blinks tired eyes open slowly, and Michael’s shoulders sag in relief.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Jeremy rasps back.

Michael cups Jeremy’s hand. “How do you feel?”

Jeremy frowns. “My head still hurts pretty bad.”

Michael nods knowingly. “I’ll try to sneak you some more red mountain dew later.” He pauses as a breathy laugh slips past his lips. “You should have seen the doctors when they caught me forcing red mountain dew down your throat.”

Jeremy laughs, only to stop and wince at his pounding head.

“Yeah,” Michael continues. “You’ll want to take it easy for a while.”

“Guess I really can’t drink green mountain dew anymore,” Jeremy mumbles, and Michael nods sympathetically.

“Sorry, buddy.” Michael says, tightening his grip around Jeremy’s hand. “At least it’s not Dr. Pepper.”

Jeremy laughs again despite his pounding head, and he locks eyes with Michael’s hopeful, genuine ones as a smile plays at the corner of his lips.


	4. Where Michael and Jeremy Are Not on the Same Page and Michael is Sick

When Jeremy texts that he’s going to meet up with Christine to run lines for a new play, Michael replies with “go get her, ya killer ;) ;)” despite the frown painted on his lips.

While Jeremy and Christine are still new to the relationship, Michael knows how much Jeremy adores the girl, so he’s willing to root for the two, even if it leaves his heart crumbling into pieces.

Unsurprisingly, Jeremy doesn’t reply. Michael figures the latter is desperately trying to find something to wear to impress Christine while at their “play practice,” meaning their date.

Michael doesn’t know why Jeremy rarely talks about his relationship with Christine, but he figures that it is for the best. He isn’t sure if he can handle listening to Jeremy gush about someone that isn’t him.

Okay, so maybe Michael’s having a hard time dealing with Jeremy liking someone, being with someone. Since they first met, Michael knew Jeremy was the one, but he doesn’t want to hold Jeremy back, especially if the latter genuinely likes Christine.

It’s difficult, but Michael will deal; he always has video games to distract him after all. But, to his surprise, the video game he’s currently playing isn’t helping him in the slightest. His mind is focused on everything else, and after two hours, he powers down his play station with a sigh. It’s only then that his mind catches onto the splitting headache blooming across his forehead.

Oh. Michael has been feeling kind of off since he had woken up that morning, but he had pegged it on lack of sleep. Perhaps he’s wrong.

He massages his temples with shaking hands, but then he pulls his hands away some to examine the steady tremors with furrowed brows. Why the hell is he shaking?

A consistent clacking sound answers his question. He’s freezing; his teeth are chattering hard. He presses the back of his hand to his cheek, whistling lowly at the heat that instantly warms his icy hand.

Fever, his mind supplies, and he struggles to his feet and starts to the bathroom in search of a thermometer.

Even with his glasses on, he finds that he’s having trouble seeing. His vision is swimming as he stumbles into the bathroom. He grips the edges of the sink as dark spots dance across the room.

‘Call Jeremy!’ he mentally shouts, but he can’t. He isn’t going to ruin his best friend’s date because he’s feeling a little sick. He can call his parents, but he isn’t sure how much good they would do while 500 miles away at their sporadic vacation.

He’s left alone, but he can handle this. He’s dealt with worse. He pulls open the medicine cabinet hidden behind the mirror and grabs the thermometer, but when he turns on his heel to start back to his room, his vision goes black and he falls face first to the floor.

*****

Jeremy opens Michael’s bedroom door without knocking, a habit neither seemed to mind. But to his surprise, Michael isn’t planted in front of the TV like he had expected.

“Michael?” He calls out, glancing around. He can’t stop the worry-filled pit growing in his stomach. Michael hasn’t answered any of his texts, and now he’s missing from the very place Jeremy was sure he would be.

Jeremy exits the room and starts toward the bathroom. The door is slightly ajar, and light filters out into the dark hallway.

“Michael?” He questions, voice shaking. What if he opens the door and finds Michael murdered? What if he finds that Michael swallowed a SQUIP pill?

With a trembling hand, he pushes the door open, and he can’t keep the gasp from slipping past his lips when his eyes fall onto Michael’s body sprawled out onto the floor.

“Michael!”

Jeremy drops to his knees beside his friend just as Michael moans lowly. 

“Michael, what’s wrong? Why are you on the floor?” The words tumble off of Jeremy’s tongue at a pace that matches his hammering heart.

Michael sits up with a groan, which irritates his raspy throat and leaves him coughing harshly into the crook of his elbow.

Jeremy winces at the deep, wet coughs, and when Michael finally looks back over, Jeremy takes in his friend’s flushed cheeks with furrowed brows.

“Are you sick?”

Michael shrugs while rubbing at his throat. A sudden tickle has his nose scrunching up, and he turns away once more to sneeze four times. He sniffles and looks back at Jeremy with questioning eyes.

“How was your date?”

Jeremy tilts his head. “It wasn’t a date. We ran lines. Did you pass out in here?”

Michael dodges the last question. “You can tell me if it was a date, you know? I don’t care.”

Jeremy huffs. “Christine and I aren’t dating. We talked about it and decided we weren’t compatible.” He pauses, eyes narrowing. “Did you pass out?” He repeats.

Michael blinks slowly. Jeremy and Christine aren’t dating? “You really aren’t dating Christine?”

With furrowed brows, Jeremy presses a palm to Michael’s forehead, only to jerk his hand away with a sharp hiss. “Michael, you’re burning up!”

“How long have you not been dating Christine?” Michael asks as his mind moves in slow waves.

“Jesus, Michael.” Jeremy spots the thermometer on the floor that all but confirms that Michael had passed out. He snatches it up and removes the cap before shoving the device in Michael’s ear. “Christine and I never dated.”

When the device beeps, Jeremy pulls it out of Michael’s ear, frown deepening at the 103.6 reading blinking at him. “Jesus Christ,” he breathes out. “Why didn’t you say you were sick?”

Michael glances at the thermometer, and oh… Wow… Okay, he’s really sick. A few weak coughs slip past his lips. “I didn’t want to bother you.” 

Jeremy wordlessly gets to his feet before helping Michael up. His mind is running a mile a minute as he helps Michael back into the bedroom and into bed. He disappears to run a hand towel under cold water, and on his way back, he snatches a water bottle from the fridge.

He’s moving as if on auto-pilot. When he’s worried, one of two things happen: he either panics, or he shuts off emotionally. And, he’s clearly struggling through the latter.

He reenters Michael’s room and finds Michael already half-asleep and buried under multiple blankets.

Jeremy gently sits on the edge of the bed and drapes the damp cloth across Michael’s forehead before he briefly leans over to place the water bottle onto the night stand.

Michael stirs and blinks up at him with tired eyes. “You really, really aren’t dating Christine?” 

Jeremy shakes his head, exasperated. “No! Why are you so obsessed with this?”

Fuck it, Michael thinks. “Wanna date me?” 

“Sure,” Jeremy replies almost instantly, and Michael’s eyes go wide.

“W-what?” He sputters out, only to push up on his elbows to cough harshly.

“Jesus, Michael,” Jeremy says when the latter catches his breath and falls back against the pillows. He doesn’t like the sound of those coughs at all nor the high fever. “Sleep for now before you die or something.” Despite his light-hearted tone, he’s genuinely worried, and he makes a mental note to call his father for advice.

“I’m going to ask again when I’m not half delirious with fever,” Michael rasps out, glassy eyes bright and determined.

“My answer will remain the same, but okay.” Jeremy says while sporting a soft smile.


	5. Michael Getting Sick From the Rain

Sometimes, everything becomes too much for Michael. It always happens at night when he’s lying down to sleep. He puts his music away for the night, and in the silence, his mind wanders.

Jeremy calling him a loser. Loud music thumping against the bathroom door. Cold water splashing against his tear-stained cheeks. Jeremy calling him a loser. A month of silence that not even his music could fill. Jeremy calling him a loser. Jeremy calling him a loser. Jeremy calling him a loser…

Michael sits up with a sigh. His clock blinks 12:04 a.m., and he breathes out a low groan. Looks like another night of no sleep.

He’s used to this by now, but for some reason, tonight is different. He can’t shake the cold, annoyed sound of Jeremy’s voice from the night of the party. It’s as if the few words are playing in his head like a broken record, over and over and over until he can’t take it anymore.

He has to know; he has to make sure that Jeremy is still here, the real Jeremy. He has to know that his best friend is just that- his best friend.

He shoots a quick text to Jeremy saying “I’m coming over” before shoving his feet into a pair of boots, sliding his arms into his jacket, and creeping up the stairs to leave his house.

Outside, a storm is raging. Lighting flashes across the sky as rain pounds down at a frightening slant. The conditions are less then ideal, but Michael doesn’t want to risk waking his parents with the loud sound of his car turning over before roaring to life.

He tosses one arm up to shield his eyes and starts on the ten-minute walk to Jeremy’s house.

*****

Jeremy paces the length of his room with his phone clutched to his chest. While he’s used to Michael’s sporadic midnight appearances, he can’t shake the worry clinging to his bones. It’s been twenty minutes; the normally ten-minute walk only takes Michael eight minutes max, yet it’s been an incredibly slow twenty minutes but still no sign of Michael.

Jeremy is just in the middle of contemplating waking his father when a knock on his window has him stumbling toward it. He shoves the curtain back and finds Michael shivering hard and smiling sheepishly at him.

He flips the locks back and pushes the window up and open. “You walked!?”

“Of course,” Michael says through chattering teeth as he climbs through the window. “I always walk.” He adds, wrapping his arms around his trembling frame as water drips from his drenched clothes onto Jeremy’s floor.

Jeremy slams the window shut then turns to his friend with a frown. “Yeah, when there’s not a freaking monsoon outside!”

Michael shrugs then turns away to sneeze into the crook of his elbow.

Jeremy’s anger dissipates into concern, and he grabs Michael’s arm and drags him to the bathroom.

“Shower,” he demands. “I’ll find some dry clothes.”

“You know your clothes won’t fit me.”

Jeremy shakes his head with a sigh. “Of course I know this. You leave clothes here all the time. I have a whole side of a drawer dedicated to your clothes.”

Michael blinks in surprise, but his shock is interrupted by a series of sneezes that leaves him groaning.

“Shower,” Jeremy presses, voice firm, before turning on his heel and leaving the bathroom to retrieve dry clothes.

It only takes him a few minutes to gather Michael some dry clothes, and when he returns to the bathroom, he hears the familiar squeak of the shower cutting off.

“I’ll leave the clothes right outside the door,” Jeremy calls softly, placing the clothes onto the floor. He then heads back to his room and waits on the edge of his bed for Michael. Soft sneezing sounds echoing from the hallway give Michael away, and seconds later, his friend appears in the doorway, sniffling while soft shivers course across his frame.

Jeremy frowns and gets to his feet. “You’re still cold?”

Michael shrugs, but when he moves to flop down onto a beanbag chair in front of Jeremy’s small TV, Jeremy stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Jeremy, what-”

Jeremy cuts Michael off by pushing his wet bangs back to palm his forehead. His brows furrow, and he drops his hand with a sigh. “You’re warm.”

“I’ll live.”

The clipped tone has Jeremy taking a step back. “Michael, what’s wrong?”

Michael turns until his back his facing Jeremy. A lie is on the tip of his tongue, but his heart betrays him. “You’re still you, right?”

Jeremy tilts his head in question. “Yes? What do you mean?”

Michael turns sharply until he’s facing Jeremy, and Jeremy gasps at the tears brimming Michael’s eyes.

“Michael-”

“I just had to make sure, ya know?” Michael pauses to sneeze twice into the crook of his elbow. “Sometimes I get scared that one day you won’t be you again.”

Jeremy shakes his head as he struggles to wrap his mind around words. “I don’t understand…”

“The SQUIP, Jeremy!” Michael shouts, only to end up doubled over in a coughing fit that leaves Jeremy’s chest pulsing with worry.

He places a hand against Michael’s back and rubs up and down in what he hopes is a soothing manner.

“I’m afraid of you going back to how you were with the SQUIP,” Michael wheezes out with his hands braced against his knees as he struggles to catch his breath.

Jeremy’s hand freezes against Michael’s back as his friend’s words take house inside his mind.

“Michael, I don’t… I’m not… The SQUIP is gone…”

Michael straightens his back and nods. “I know. I’m sorry. I just had to make sure.”

Jeremy only shakes his head and steps forward to pull Michael into a hug.

Neither aren’t really huggers, but certain occasions require a warm embrace by the person both cares most about.

Michael nuzzles his nose against Jeremy’s shoulder, but he’s forced to pull away as the tickling in his nose morphs into a sneezing fit.

“Ugh,” he breathes out when he’s finished. He sniffles and rubs gingerly at his nose.

Jeremy frowns and cups Michael’s cheek. The heat is still there, maybe slightly worse then before. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Michael hesitates. “I can sleep on the floor. You’ll get sick.”

“Don’t be st-” Jeremy cuts himself off. “Nonsense,” he says instead. “I really don’t give a shit if I get sick.”

“I do,” Michael fights back, but Jeremy only tugs at his arm harder.

“That’s too bad,” Jeremy says, shoving Michael lightly onto the bed.

“Jeremy,” Michael presses, tone warning despite the congestion, but Jeremy only shakes his head and crawls into bed on the other side.

“Goodnight, Michael.” He rolls onto his side and wraps his long arms around Michael’s waist, preventing the latter from getting off the bed.

“Fine, geez,” Michael says. “Let me go so I can get comfortable.”

Jeremy releases his hold while Michael shifts around, but as soon as his friend is comfortable, he drapes an arm across Michael’s torso and uses the latter’s chest as a pillow.

“Is this okay?” Jeremy asks, and Michael breaths out a light laugh.

“You do this every time I come over, and now you decide to ask?”


	6. A Take on If Jeremy and Michael Got Caught in the Fire

_“We need to get you home. Now.”_

Jeremy downs his fourth cup of beer. He’s alone on Rich’s couch now that everyone’s stumbled home for the night. His SQUIP has been sputtering in Japanese for the last twenty minutes, but Jeremy ignores him in favor of getting absolutely shit-faced.

This night, he thinks in his hazy mind, did not go as planned, and he cradles his only friend, his cup of beer, to his chest as he lounges on the couch.

Rich has been running around screaming for red mountain dew for an hour, and there’s a small piece of Jeremy’s mind that thinks he should be concerned, but instead of acting on this, he downs more beer until the room starts to sway.

Smoke slowly filters into the room, moving in billowing waves just like the rest of the furniture. Jeremy glances down into his cup, wondering if he’s been drugged, but then he inhales the ashy smoke and coughs.

If there’s one thing that will sober you up in the blink of an eye, it’s fire.

Jeremy’s cup slips from his hand, beer splashing onto his costume and the couch, and he leans forward with furrowed brows.

His SQUIP is screaming in Japanese despite Jeremy no longer feeling the affects of alcohol, and Jeremy jumps to his feet, swaying only for a moment as his body readjusts. 

“I got it,” he mutters to his SQUIP as he blinks against the smoke. “I’m leaving.” He starts toward the door, but a screaming sound startles him into glancing over his shoulder with his hand hovering over the doorknob. 

He spots Rich racing up the stairs, and fuck…

“Rich!” Jeremy shouts before pressing the crook of his arm over his mouth and booking it up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. “Rich!” He tries again before coughing harshly.

His lungs are already starting to burn, a tell-tale sign that he needs to get the hell out now. “Rich!” He shouts again, voice breaking into coughs halfway through the name.

A sudden, loud sound of glass shattering has him moving to a bedroom. He eyes the broken window, and when he walks toward it to glance outside, he gasps until he’s left sputtering out coughs.

Rich is lying motionless on a bed of bushes beneath the window, and fuck! Jeremy whips around and races out of the room. He speeds passed closed doors, and he’s just approaching the stairs when a faint choking sound piercing through the sound of the roaring flames and crackling wood has him freezing as dread washes over his body.

Someone’s still here, but who? Jeremy had watched as each person piled out of the house earlier, so who did he miss?

He glances toward the closed doors, then to the stairs, then back to the closed doors and makes a decision.

He spins on his heel and starts banging on the first closed door. “Hello! Is anyone in there? There’s a fire, and we need to leave!” He’s met with silence and moves to the next door. He gets two knocks in when a voice calls out.

“Hey! Can you help me? The door’s stuck!”

No, Jeremy thinks to himself. No, no, no, no, no, no!

“Michael!?”

There’s a beat of silence from the person on the other side of the door then a strangled “Jeremy!?”

Jeremy tries the doorknob, but it’s jammed or something. Jeremy doesn’t know; all he knows is that it won’t budge. Michael is trapped in a burning house, and the damn doorknob won’t budge!

“Jeremy!”

Michael’s panicked voice forces Jeremy back to the present, back to the disastrous problem he’s facing.

“I’m going to try and break the door down!” Jeremy shouts as he starts ripping off the large spray painted cardboard pieces of his costume until he’s left in a pair of shorts and a short sleeve black shirt.

“No, Jeremy! Just go!”

Jeremy is just about to run toward the door full force but, he freezes at Michael’s words. “What!?”

“Just get out of here! It’s too dangerous, but you can still save yourself!”

Jeremy stares at the door as if it magically grew four heads. “Michael, shut up! We are both getting out of here!” He turns to cough harshly before charging toward the door. Unsurprisingly, it only slightly trembles under the force, and he races back and tries again, and again, and again, all while Michael is shouting at him to leave while he still can.

On his sixth try, the door gives away, and Jeremy goes flying into the bathroom. He expects his already throbbing side to crash against hard bathroom tile, but instead, Michael’s strong arms wrap around him, and he and Michael topple to the floor with Michael taking the brunt of the fall.

“Shit,” Michael breathes out when Jeremy rolls off of him.

Jeremy ignore his aching side and shoulder and shoots up onto his hands and knees. “Are you okay?” He questions Michael quickly, eyes scanning over his best friend for any obvious injuries.

Michael nods while coughing against the waves of smoke rushing in. “We need,” he spits out in between coughs, “to leave!”

Jeremy’s already hopping to his feet, and he pulls Michael up with him. The two start out of the bathroom, but any hope of leaving through the front door downstairs is shattered by large flames taking over the stairwell.

While coughing, Jeremy glances back to the room Rich escaped from. It’s risky, dangerous, and all he and Michael has.

“Come on!” Jeremy shouts, lacing his fingers with Michael’s as he leads his friend toward the bedroom.

When the two walk in and close the door behind them, Michael spots the broken window and curses under his breath.

“It’s the only way, huh?”

Jeremy frowns at the fear lacing Michael’s tone and nods. He leads Michael toward the window, and when he pokes his head out and looks down, he gasps. Rich is gone. He glances up and spots fire trucks and ambulances covering the entire street. Hopefully, he thinks, paramedics got to Rich on time.

“Ready?” Jeremy asks when he brings his head back into the room, and Michael nods, wraps strong fingers around Jeremy wrist, and pulls him back before hopping out of the window before Jeremy can even blink.

“Michael!” Jeremy books it back to the window to see Michael groaning and struggling to his feet. “Are you insane?!”

“I can catch you this way!” Michael shouts back with his arms outstretched and eyes wide and determined.

A loud popping sound has Jeremy snapping his gaze back to see large flames crackling against the door. It’s now or never.

“I’m coming!” Jeremy shouts down. He climbs up until he’s crouched in the open window, closes his eyes, then jumps.

The fall takes roughly around two seconds, but to Jeremy, it feels like years. Cold, October wind whips against him, and he finds it ironic that he’s suddenly freezing despite having been in a burning house.

He lands into Michael’s arms, and Michael takes a moment to steady his legs from the added weight before he’s running.

“Michael!?”

Michael stays silent as he moves far away from the burning house. Once they are a safe distance away, he drops to his knees, and Jeremy goes tumbling into the grass in front of him.

Jeremy hisses from the fall, but seconds later, he’s up and at Michael’s side, placing a shaking hand to Michael’s back while the other grips at his swelling ankle.

“I’m okay,” Michael says through clenched teeth. “Just landed wrong.”

Jeremy nods, and next thing he knows, he’s coughing hard. Over and over and over. He can’t breathe; his lungs are set aflame, and an uncomfortable heat is spreading across his chest while the rest of his body is cold to the touch. He’s shivering and coughing, and he’s suddenly being gathered into Michael’s arms while his SQUIP is screaming at him to relax and breathe, back in English finally.

“It’s okay,” Michael whispers as he holds Jeremy tight.

“There’s a few more over here!”

Both Jeremy and Michael can faintly make out the sound of a fireman, and seconds later, there are multiple pairs of feet racing toward them.

“Help is coming,” Michael mutters into Jeremy’s hair, and Jeremy nods while he coughs and coughs.

“I’m sorry,” Jeremy manages out in between coughs, guilt of the previous events of the night mixing with the heat flaring across his chest, but Michael shushes him.

“It’s fine, Jeremy. We’re fine.”


	7. Ficlet: Michael Pushes Jeremy Out of the Way of a Speeding Car

_“Aw, Jeremy. You know I’d take a bullet for you!”_

_“You wouldn’t have to worry about that, Jeremy. If anyone tries to fight you, I’ll shield you!”_

_“Jeremy, if you ever choke on food, I will take the food from you and choke on it myself.”_

_“Michael, that doesn’t even make sense…”_

_“Don’t question it, Jeremy!”_

*****

Jeremy doesn’t understand why he and Michael are walking when Michael has a perfectly good car that could navigate them through the city in the comfort of AC, but Michael insisted that they should walk to “fully take in the sights of the city.”

Stupid, Jeremy thinks to himself as he sticks close to Michael while people crowd around at the crosswalk to wait for the “walk” symbol to light up.

It’s boiling outside, and all Jeremy can think about is the sweat sliding down the back of his neck to soak his shirt collar. Beside him, Michael is defying all odds by sporting his red jacket that has Jeremy feeling as if on fire by just looking at it.

“You have to be hot,” Jeremy comments just as the “walk” symbol blinks to life.

“Nope,” Michael chirps back with a smile as they two start walking with the flow of the crowd.

There’s too many people shoving against them. It’s driving Jeremy up a wall, so he curls his fingers onto Michael’s jacket sleeve. But, his phone falling from his pocket has him letting go so he can retrieve it.

He’s almost knocked completely over by a few rude people, but he ignores them as he crouches down and wraps his fingers around the small device. Luckily for him, it hasn’t been stomped on and is only slightly scuffed up from the fall.

“Jeremy!”

Michael’s voice pierces through the crowd, and Jeremy gets to his feet. He spots Michael already on the sidewalk, and he waves his phone up.

“Sorry! Dropped my phone!” He shouts, but his smile drops into a frown at the panicked look on Michael’s face. “What?”

Suddenly, Michael is charging toward him while pointing to the right, and Jeremy looks over to see a bright red mustang speeding straight toward him.

Suddenly, everything suddenly shifts into slow motion. Jeremy turns back to see Michael gaining on him with tears streaming down his tan face. He can make out Michael yelling his name through sight alone because he suddenly can’t hear anything except his heart pounding in his ears.

And then Michael’s on him. Jeremy feels rough hands shove hard against his shoulders, and then he’s flying back against the hot pavement. The sounds of brakes screeching pierce his ears, and there’s a dull thumping sound followed by screaming.

Just as if someone is pressing a fast-forward button, things quickly shift back into normal speed when Jeremy sits up with a wince to see Michael’s motionless body lying in front of the mustang.

People from all sides of the street are running over, and suddenly there are hands all over Jeremy. 

“Son, are you alright?”

“Hey, boy, can you hear me?”

“Are you hurt?”

Jeremy shakes his head over and over, mouth opening and closing as he cranes his neck to see past the people blocking his view of Michael.

His heart is racing, and he can’t breathe. His lungs are trembling against each gasping breath, but it’s not enough. His vision is blurring, but Michael’s still there, still lying lifelessly a few feet before him.

Sirens echo from a distance just as Jeremy begins shaking.

“He’s going into shock!”

“It’s okay, honey. An ambulance is on the way.”

His vision is growing dark, but he fights against it because he needs to know if Michael is okay. But, he’s struggling through a losing battle, and a harsh scream tears up his throat just before everything goes black. 

*****

It takes five days until Michael wakes up. His leg is broken, he’s got three broken ribs, and he’s sporting a severe concussion.

But, he’s alive.

He’s alive, Jeremy repeats to himself over and over and over, but then Michael stirs, and Jeremy’s heart leaps up his throat.

He jumps to his feet and bends over until his face is just inches from Michael’s.

Michael blinks slowly once, twice, three times before his eyes focus on Jeremy’s worried face. “Hi.”

Jeremy releases a breath that has been burning in his lungs for five days as his eyes well with tears. “Hi,” he breathes back.

Michael frowns and brings a weak hand up to Jeremy’s cheek. “Why’re you crying?” He whispers, throat sore from disuse.

Jeremy only shakes his head then presses trembling lips to Michael’s. When he pulls away, he keeps his head pressed against Michael’s.

“Why?” He asks, voice soft and cracking.

“I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Michael’s voice is firm, and Jeremy only cries harder and drops against Michael’s chest just as Michael wraps two arms around his trembling frame.


	8. Jeremy Passing Out at a Party While Sick and Michael Having a Panic Attack

Ever since the play, Jeremy and Michael have found that they have grown in popularity, so neither were all that surprised when they got invited to Chloe’s annual Christmas Bash.

When the day of the party rolls around, Michael is shocked to get a text from Jeremy asking “can we skip?”

Michael thumbs out a quick reply consisting of multiple question marks, and Jeremy texts back almost instantly with “just not really feeling it”.

Frowning, Michael wracks his brain for possible reasons behind Jeremy’s sudden disinterest, and he texts back the one that keeps popping up the most: the SQUIP.

There’s a three-minute pause before Jeremy replies with “what? No! Nvm. Just pick me up at 8.”

Michael’s not too happy with the reply, but he opts not to press for further information. He trusts that Jeremy will come to him if need be.

*****

Michael sways with the loud music as he leads Jeremy through the crowd with a beer cup in one hand. He’s not a party person by any means, but every now and then, he likes this nice change of pace where people look at him and actually _see_ him verses scowling at his presence.

Many people stop to talk with them as they maneuver around sweaty bodies with no real destination in mind. When Michael suddenly feels a weak tug at his jacket sleeve, he spins around and stumbles back to find Jeremy right in front of his face.

“Jesus, Jeremy,” Michael breathes out through a light laugh. He takes in Jeremy’s flushed cheeks and sweat-soaked skin with an arched brow. “You may want to lay off of the booze some,” he adds, snatching the red cup that’s filled to the brim with beer from Jeremy’s trembling hand. He passes it to some girl from his History class who walks by the two.

Turning forward, Michael begins bobbing his head to the music and walking against the crowd once more, but he freezes when he feels hot breath brush against his ear.

“Can we go somewhere quiet?”

Jeremy’s voice is a shaky whisper in his ear, and he can’t keep his heart from pounding rapidly against his chest as he shudders with a teasing smile. Nodding, he laces his fingers with Jeremy’s and begins pulling his friend up the stairs and down the hallway.

There’s an empty bedroom at the end of the hall, and Michael pulls Jeremy in before kicking the door closed with his foot. He steps forward with his back to Jeremy as he tries to get his breathing under control. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous; it’s just Jeremy, but he can’t shake the feeling that something is happening.

“So,” Michael starts, drawing out the word. “What’s-” 

His words are interrupted by a loud thump, and he sharply turns around to see Jeremy sprawled out motionless across the floor.

“J-Jeremy?” For a moment, Michael can’t move. His mind flashes back to the play, to the endless days of watching Jeremy lie lifelessly in a hospital bed. His breath catches in his throat just as reality crashes back like a brick to the face, and he drops to his knees beside his friend.

“Jeremy,” he tries, shaking his friend. “What’s wrong?” He shakes Jeremy once more, but the latter doesn’t stir.

A spike of panic shoots through his veins when he cups Jeremy’s cheek and finds his face burning to the touch. Sick, Michael tells himself. Jeremy’s sick.

Worry mixes with panic in the form of a hot flare that spreads across Michael’s chest as he gets to his feet. He sucks in sharp, ragged breaths that fight against his racing heart. He glances around the room for something, anything that can help Jeremy, but everything is swimming in and out of focus.

He swallows a lump in his throat and finds his mouth is incredibly dry and hot. No. He’s hot. His whole body is hot, but he’s shaking. He can’t stop shaking. He holds his trembling hands in front of his welling eyes and looks with furrowed brows.

It’s the SQUIP, he tells himself. It has to be. His knees buckle, and he flops down onto the edge of the bed. His stomach is churning, but he can’t breathe through the nausea because he. Can’t. Breathe.

His lungs are burning, desperate for air, but he can’t get a solid breath in. His vision is growing dark, and his heart is pounding so loud in his ears that he fails to hear the door open.

“What the hell is wrong with Jeremy?”

Michael tenses at the voice, and he snaps his head to see Rich staring at Jeremy. He blinks against the dark spots dancing across his vision just as Rich crouches down to try and wake Jeremy.

“Yo, Jeremy?”

Michael watches as Rich smacks Jeremy’s cheek, only to jerk his hand away with a low whistle.

“Damn. He’s a fucking furnace. Did you know he was- Michael?”

Michael shakes his head and clutches at his throat with one hand. He really can’t breathe, and his mind is growing fuzzy as quickly as the room is growing dim.

“Shit, Michael. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I-” Michael tries, and then everything goes black.

*****

“-ael? Michael!”

Michael startles awake, and his eyes instantly grow wide at Jeremy’s flushed face hovering over him.

“Jeremy?!” Michael shoots upward just as Jeremy turns away to cough harshly into the crook of his elbow.

“Yeah,” Jeremy manages between coughs. “Are you-”

Before Jeremy can finish his words, Michael throws himself on Jeremy, pulling Jeremy tightly to his chest as tears spill from his eyes.

“You’re okay?” He asks, voice frantic. “You’re not dying? The SQUIP isn’t back?”

Jeremy shakes his head and does his best to not cough on Michael. “No, I’m okay.” He coughs again, harder this time. “Well I’m not, but I will be with rest.”

Michael pulls away but keeps his hands clamped down on Jeremy’s shoulders. “What happened? You were passed out, and I can’t remember anything after that.”

Jeremy frowns at this. “Rich slapped me until I woke up. He told me he couldn’t get you to wake up. Have you been having panic attacks again?”

“I… No,” Michael says, but Jeremy shoots him an unyielding look. “Maybe some. Here and there. They aren’t too bad.”

“You passed out!”

“Because you passed out!”

“You two are a fucking mess.”

Michael and Jeremy look to see Rich leaning in the doorway with an arched brow.

“Go home. Both of you. Christ.” With that, Rich turns and starts down the hallway.

“I can call my dad,” Jeremy starts with a cough, but Michael cuts him off with a shake of the head.

“No, it’s okay. I can drive. I’m okay.” Michael gets to his feet then helps Jeremy up. When Jeremy begins to sway, Michael grabs his arm. “Can you make it to my car?”

“I think so,” Jeremy answers, and Michael frowns at Jeremy’s sudden, persistent shivering.

He sheds his jacket and pushes up on his toes to drape it across Jeremy’s shoulders before wrapping one arm tightly around Jeremy’s waist. “Okay, you ready?”

Jeremy pulls Michael’s jacket tighter around him and nods. “Yeah.”

Michael still feels a little shaky and horribly embarrassed, but he pushes all his focus on getting Jeremy home and in bed for some much needed rest.


	9. Events Following Right After The Play

One would think that multiple kids passing out on stage would elicit a scene of mass chaos, but to Michael’s surprise, the events following Jeremy and the others collapsing on stage were calm and orderly.

Those who had parents attending the show were whisked away by moms and dads while the rest of the audience filed out of the theater. At some point, the paramedics were called, but Michael couldn’t tell when.

His sole focus was, and still is, on Jeremy. He had crawled over toward his unconscious friend and cradled Jeremy’s motionless body to his chest, rocking back and forth as silent tears streamed down his cheeks, and he stayed like this, lost in rippling thoughts over what to do if Jeremy doesn’t make it, until a gentle voice washed over the two.

“Son? You mind if we take this young man here?”

For a moment, Michael tightens his hold around Jeremy. He looks up to the owner of the voice, blinking past the tears to see a calm, smiling face watching him with care. There’s a pair of people climbing the steps of the stage behind him with a gurney, and Michael finally relaxes his hold when he catches sight of them.

The two with the gurney arrive, and together, all three paramedics get Jeremy fastened onto the portable bed.

Before he knows it, Michael is climbing to his feet and stumbling after the paramedics, after Jeremy.

“I need to go with him,” Michael calls out, voice shaking as he struggles forward against buckling knees. “Please,” he presses, voice cracking desperately as his words catch in his throat.

One paramedic stops and turns toward Michael, and Michael staggers toward him, gripping the paramedic’s arms tightly to steady his swaying form.

“Please. I have to…. He’s my best friend…” Michael’s choking out words that struggle to find voice against the gasping sobs slipping up his throat. He’s suddenly so scared. He can’t think past the fact that Jeremy is being wheeled away without him. “Please,” he presses, sniffling loudly.

The paramedic’s brows furrow, but he nods all the same. “Of course,” he tells Michael. “You can come, but I need you to try and breathe for me, okay?”

Michael frowns at this, but then his mind catches up to the fact that he’s not breathing, and he sucks in a shaking breath and nods.

“Good,” the paramedic says with a soft smile. He drapes an arm across Michael’s shoulders, and the two start toward the ambulance.

*****

As if God is watching down and spiting them, there’s traffic on the way to the hospital, and while the paramedic riding along in the back of the ambulance assures that Jeremy should be fine because his vitals are all okay, Michael’s on edge.

The constant stop and go jerking of the ambulance paired with Jeremy looking so pale and so quiet leaves Michael tense to the core. He’s hunched over on the small bench, and he keeps one hand tightly within Jeremy’s, staring and willing his best friend’s fingers to curl into his hand, to give any sign of life other than the slow rise and fall of his chest.

For minutes, Michael sits like this, and he would stay like forever, but the paramedic suddenly clearing his throat has Michael looking toward the older man.

“Does Jeremy have any family you can call?”

Oh. Shit. Fuck. Michael has forgotten all about Mr. Heere. What’s he supposed to say? How is he going to even attempt to explain to Mr. Heere that Jeremy took a pill containing a super computer and had a giant battle with it? What is he-

“Son?”

Michael releases a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding and meets the paramedic’s worried eyes.

“I’ve… I can call his dad. I just need a minute.” Michael tells the man, and when the man nods, Michael reluctantly releases Jeremy’s hand and slumps back against the wall behind him.

His thoughts are at war with one another. There’s shouting to tell the truth verses shouting that he can’t do that to Jeremy. His mind is a giant conflict desperately searching for a resolution while his heart hammers against his chest.

It takes a solid three minutes until he can breathe, and it’s only then that he fishes his phone out of his pocket with a trembling hand. His thumb hovers over Mr. Heere’s speed dial number, and he swallows down the lump in his throat and presses down on it before bringing the small phone to his ear.

After three rings, a voice echoes from the speaker.

_“Michael? How’d it go? Did you save our Jeremy?”_

Michael’s heart pangs painfully in his chest as his eyes fall onto Jeremy’s unconscious form. “Uh, about that…”

Perhaps it was the tremble in Michael’s voice or the lack of vibrant vibrato, but Mr. Heere can tell almost immediately that something’s wrong.

_“What’s wrong, Michael? What happened?”_

“Jeremy… He… He’s…. We…”

_“Come on, Michael. You can tell me.”_

Michael breathes out a shaky sigh. “We are on our way to the hospital…”

_“What!? Is Jeremy-”_

“He’s okay,” Michael interrupts. “Well, he’s not, but he will be.”

_“What happened?!”_

Make a choice, Michael tells himself. “Someone said he took some pill to calm his nerves before the show, and he ended up passing out.” It’s not, Michael thinks, his story to tell, but he will definitely be at Jeremy’s side if the latter ever decides to tell his father the truth.

 _“Jesus Christ.”_ A pause. _“I’ll meet you at the hospital.”_

Before Mr. Heere can hang up, Michael shouts “wait!”

_“What?”_

“Make sure you wear pants.”


	10. Jeremy Having Absence Seizures

Since leaving the hospital, Jeremy’s been feeling off, but when people ask how he’s feeling, he always plasters a smile across his lips and says “I’m okay.”

He doesn’t know how to even begin explaining that he doesn’t really feel like he’s here. He feels as if he’s loosely tethered to the ground by a fraying rope that could break at any second, leaving him free floating through a black void with the SQUIP’s voice trailing after him.

That, he thinks as he enters Michael’s room for their first official post-SQUIP game night, would result in him seated across a therapist, and he doesn’t need one because he’s fine. He’s sure that his mind is having trouble readjusting to being alone, without a snarky voice taking hold whenever he fucks up.

“Jeremy!”

The loud, excited pitch of Michael’s tone leaves Jeremy smiling as he flops down onto the bean bag chair placed in front of Michael’s small TV. “Michael, hey.”

Jeremy watches as Michael gathers two controllers from beside the console before taking a spot in the other bean bag chair. Michael holds out one of the controllers, but when Jeremy leans forward to grab it, his arm suddenly goes slack just as a dark, grey cloud spreads across his vision.

“Jeremy?”

Michael’s voice sounds far off but distinctly there all the same, and Jeremy blinks, brows furrowed as everything comes back to him all at once, lights, sounds, colors, Michael.

“Dude, do you sleep at all?”

Breathing out a low sigh, Jeremy rubs at the back of his neck before taking the controller. “Yeah, I don’t know. I’m still getting used to everything being so quiet upstairs.” He taps an index finger lightly against his temple, and Michael nods in understanding.

“Yeah, I bet it’s…”

Michael’s words trail off as the grey cloud comes back, faster and bigger than before. Jeremy drops the controller to the floor, and his entire body goes slack except his hands, that are absently rubbing together.

“-emy? Jeremy! Dude!”

All at once, reality comes rushing back, piercing through the grey cloud like an arrow. Sounds come next, and shortly after, Jeremy jerks back when his eyes process Michael’s face mere inches before his.

“Michael, what-” Whatever words to follow are cut off by Michael’s palm slapping against Jeremy’s forehead. Jeremy winces and arches a brow toward Michael. “What are you doing?”

Michael places his free palm to his own forehead for only a moment before he drops both hands with a low sigh. “Trying to figure out what the hell is going on with you.”

“I… I don’t know what’s going on,” Jeremy admits, wrapping slender arms around himself as if to keep his body grounded. It feels as if the rope keeping him down is splitting and struggling against his weight, and he’s not sure how much longer he’s going to be here.

“Me either, but it’s freaking me out.” Michael starts. “You just started blinking all fast and shit, and this second time, you were rubbing your hands together like this.” He mimics the action, and Jeremy frowns.

Did he do that really? He can’t remember. His mind is blank, or rather, it’s becoming blank. Grey clouds dance across his vision, and his tense shoulders sag as he slumps forward while everything around him goes silent.

“-ucking hell! Jeremy!”

Michael’s voice is suddenly very loud and very close, and Jeremy blinks through the grey clouds to see Michael’s worried face once again mere inches from his.

“Are you back?”

Jeremy’s heart begins to hammer against his chest, and his lungs struggle to suck in air against it. “I… Yeah. I’m here.” He hopes. He draws his knees up to his chest and snakes his arms around his legs, making himself impossibly small against a wide void threatening to take him away.

He watches with sharp, ragged breaths as Michael types rapidly on his phone until he breathes out a string of curses that get progressively louder with each word.

“Michael. Michael! What? What is it?” Jeremy drops his feet to the ground and leans forward, forehead brushing against Michael’s as he struggles to read upside down words.

“Absence seizure?” Jeremy reads aloud slowly before moving away with a frown. “Michael, I’m not having seizures.”

“But you match the symptoms!”

Michael’s frantic voice is enough reason for Jeremy to snatch the phone and read through the symptoms. “I think I’d remember if I smacked my lips.” He looks back up at Michael, and his frown deepens when Michael’s face falls.

“But, you did. Just this last time. You smacked your lips over and over and over.”

Jeremy’s breath catches in his throat, and he shakes his head just as Michael breathes out a trembling “fuck”.

“I don’t… I can’t…. I don’t remember,” Jeremy whispers. “I don’t remember anything.” His heart is racing, pounding loud in his ears, and based on Michael’s paling face, he’d say the latter feels the same.

“Okay,” Michael breathes out, voice weak and scared. “It’s okay.” He presses, voice slightly stronger. He gets to his feet and pats his pockets for his car keys, all while keeping narrowed eyes on Jeremy.

Jeremy slowly gets to his feet as well, mentally repeating every action he’s doing over and over to make sure he’s still here.

Michael pulls his car keys from his pocket. “Okay. Call your dad and tell him to meet us at the hospital.”

Jeremy’s surprised by Michael’s sudden, orderly tone, but he obliges and fishes his phone out of his pants pocket.

It feels as if Michael is holding tightly onto the rope that’s tied to Jeremy and threatening to snap, and Jeremy needs that. He needs someone to hold tightly to him while he struggles through this, whatever the hell this is. 

He needs Michael.

He looks up from his phone, and when Michael shoots him a firm nod, he punches his father’s number in and brings the phone to his ear.

_“Jeremy? What’s up, son?”_

Jeremy swallows thickly just as Michael’s hand clamps down onto his shoulder.

“Dad? We need to talk.”


	11. Ficlet: "Why Are You So Nice to Me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a teeny, tiny ficlet that is not h/c, but I loved the prompt. The setting is Middle School, and this is my take on when Jeremy and Michael first meet.

Jeremy sets his limited edition Legend of Zelda lunch box atop the scratched, chipped lunch table located in the far corner of the cafeteria beside the trash cans. Just as he’s unlatching the small clasp to get to his food, a boy flops down onto the stool across from him.

Jeremy jerks back and blinks in surprise.

“Hi!”

The boy has dark skin and equally dark hair that’s spiked up toward the ceiling. He’s got a thick pair of headphones around his neck, and he’s got a red hoodie on that practically swallows his small frame. His eyes seem impossibly big behind large, square framed glasses, and his smile is wide, almost blinding.

“Uh, hi?” Jeremy chirps back, tone sliding upward in a questioning tone.

“I’m Michael Mell! M and M!” He pauses, whipping out a bag of M&Ms from his giant pocket. “Just like these!”

His enthusiasm is overwhelming, and Jeremy finds he’s having trouble keeping up. He shakes his head and breathes out a low sigh. “I’m Jeremy. Jeremy Heere.”

“Jeremy… Here? Did you just talk in third person?” Michael pauses to laugh. “You’re funny, Jeremy!”

Jeremy’s eyebrow twitches and his eyes narrow. “No. Heere. H.E.E.R.E.”

Michael tilts his head, face thoughtful, then nods. “I see. Sorry about that!” His lips curl back up into a wide smile, and he motions toward Jeremy’s lunchbox. “So you like the Legend of Zelda?”

Jeremy’s gaze shifts from the lunch box then back to Michael. He’s been in this situation before. Someone comments on his lunch box, he expresses his interest in this particular game, and then he gets called a loser and told that “halo is better.”

He’s prepared for harsh comments when he nods with his eyes glued to the table, but he’s greeted with a sharp gasp instead. He glances up to see that Michael’s smile is impossibly big.

“Me too!”

Jeremy waits for the catch, but Michael only admires the lunch box with wide eyes. He relaxes his tense shoulders and nudges the lunch box closer to Michael so the latter can see better.

“Can I?” Michael asks, hand hovering over the metal box. “I know this is a limited edition.”

Jeremy’s surprised by Michael knowing this, and he wordlessly nods, lips absently curling up into a smile at Michael’s loud “yes!”

For minutes, he silently watches as Michael inspects every aspect of the lunch box with wide, shimmering eyes. When Michael finishes and sets the box down, Jeremy leans forward and props his elbows atop the table, dropping his chin into one open palm.

“Why are you being so nice to me? No one else ever is.”

He watches as Michael’s face briefly falls into a frown before shooting back up brightly. “Because I think you’re cool!”


	12. Ficlet: Jeremy Being Bullied ft. Protective Michael

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Setting: Freshman year

High school, Michael thinks, is far too big and far too confusing for a mind that is still trapped in the comfort of middle school. He’s spent the better half of five minutes trying to navigate around students far larger than himself in order to find Jeremy’s locker. 

When the masses of students begin to dwindle, Michael realizes he’s running short on time, but he has to find Jeremy first. They made a pact on the first day to always meet up after every class no matter what. To them, this isn’t just high school; it’s also survival. 

Now that there aren’t what feels like thousands of students crowding around, it doesn’t take Michael long to spot Jeremy at his locker, but Jeremy’s not alone.

In front of Jeremy is a towering red-head who does not appear friendly at all. Michael watches as the red-head shouts at Jeremy, but then the next few seconds appear to Michael’s narrowed eyes as if in slow motion. 

Jeremy turns his back on the red-head to open his locker, but the red-head doesn’t leave. Instead, he shoves two palms against Jeremy’s back, forcing the brunet face-first into the locker. 

Michael’s blood begins to boil, and a dangerous red colors over his normally welcoming eyes. Time shifts back to normal just as he starts toward the two. 

“Hey!” 

Both Jeremy and the red-head look toward Michael, and Michael allows a brief moment of fear when he spots the blood seeping out from Jeremy’s hand that’s cupped over his nose before anger takes center hold within his chest once more. He stalks up to the red-head with his hands curled into fists at his side, and then he swings. 

Here’s a perk of being left-handed: people never see a punch coming. Michael’s knuckles crash against the red-head’s cheek, and said boy stumbles backwards, eyes wide in surprise. 

For a moment, no one moves, and the three fall deathly silent, save Michael’s harsh panting as adrenaline courses through his body. But, after a few moments, the red-head laughs. 

“You’ve got some serious balls, freshie.” 

Michael steps around until he’s planted in front of Jeremy as a human shield, and he narrows his eyes, staring dangerously at the red-head. 

“Chill, dude. I’m leaving.” 

Michael and Jeremy watch as the red-head turns on his heel and walks off, and it’s only when the guy is out of sight that Michael spins around pushes up slightly on his toes to get a better look at Jeremy’s nose. 

Despite the blood and bruising, Jeremy smiles, and Michael frowns at this, briefly wondering if perhaps Jeremy hit his head. 

“Dude, that was so awesome! Thank you.” Jeremy says, voice a spitting image of someone in awe. 

Michael rocks back on his heels, and his lips curl up into a wide smile. “I’ve got your back.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I don't know if Michael is right-handed or left-handed, but he's left-handed for this. 
> 
> 2\. The red-head is just some random dude.


	13. Rich's SQUIP Warning Him That Jeremy's Sick

“I’ll be right back.” Jeremy says quietly as he stands from his seat.

Rich looks up from his burger, but he doesn’t have to voice the questions floating across his mind because Michael beats him to it.

“Where are you going?”

Rich will never get over the way Michael talks to Jeremy like he’s the single greatest thing in this wild fucking universe. Don’t get him wrong; he’s glad he’s got Jake by his side, but if Michael and Jeremy weren’t a thing, Rich is sure he would be all over Michael in a heartbeat.

“Bathroom,” Jeremy answers with a light smile that seems, at least to Rich, a little strained.

“Hurry back,” Michael says, hand lingering in Jeremy’s before the brunet pulls away and walks off.

Rich wants to find the two disgusting, but call him a hopeless romantic because he secretly adores watching the two continue to grow closer to each other with each passing day.

“You’re a sap,” Jake tells Michael when Jeremy is no longer within sight.

Michael only smiles and shrugs before absently picking up a few fries while fiddling with his phone with his free hand.

While Michael is distracted, Rich shifts around until he’s facing Rich on the booth bench the two are sharing.

“What are you doing, bro?”

Smiling, Rich tilts his head. “Staring at my favorite bro.”

When Jake’s cheeks color red with a blush, Rich leans forward with full intentions on smacking his lips firmly against Jake’s, but a sudden electric jolt shooting up his spine and over the back of his skull has him pulling back with a deep frown.

“Rich?”

_“Warning, warning, warning, warning, warning, warning.”_

Rich clutches at his head as the word repeats over and over, getting louder and louder with each syllable. The voice is familiar, too familiar, and Rich feels his blood run cold, momentarily glancing around with panicked eyes as if his SQUIP’s physical form is going to manifest right before him at any second

“Rich? What’s wrong?”

Michael’s voice this time, just as worried as Jake’s, but Rich is having trouble hearing them over the loud blaring in his ear.

_“WARNING, WARNING, WARNING, WARNING, WARNING.”_

“Rich!”

Rich quickly slides out of the booth, briefly swaying on his feet.

“Dude, seriously. What’s going on?”

Before he knows it, both Michael and Jake are somehow standing in front of him, blocking his vision. He shakes his head as if he can shake out the loud voice now screaming rapidly in his ears.

_“WARNINGWARNINGWARNINGWARNING.”_

“SQUIP,” Rich breathes out, not missing the way the two pale before him.

“I thought that was over with?”

“What is it saying?”

Rich glances between the two, noting the fear in their eyes. “Warning,” he mutters, gut twisting uncomfortably. Something’s wrong. He feels fine, and his surroundings look fine, normal. But, something is still off.

He glances around for an answer that may be hidden among the masses of shoppers piling in and out of the food court, and it’s only when he catches sight of a “BATHROOM THIS WAY” sign that he catches onto the missing link.

“Jeremy,” he breathes out, already starting toward the closest men’s bathroom with Jake and Michael hot on his heels.

“What about Jeremy? What’s wrong?” Rich?“

Michael’s questions are spilling off his tongue, but Rich ignores them as he maneuvers around shoppers to get to the bathroom. As he gets closer, his SQUIP’s voice gets louder until it’s a piercing scream when the three walk into the men’s bathroom.

Rich’s head is throbbing, and his ears feel as if they may bleed in a moment’s time. He has to hurry up and find Jeremy.

“Jeremy!” He shouts, not caring if there are other shoppers in the bathroom.

He supposes Michael and Jake can sense the desperate panic in his tone because the two begin checking every stall. When they reach the last one and find that it won’t budge open, Rich is quick to crouch down and look under the gap. He spots Jeremy’s legs, bent upward as if the latter is sitting with his knees drawn to his chest.

_“WARNINGWARNINGWARNINGWARNINGWARNINGWARNINGWARNINGWARNINGWARNING.”_

“Jeremy?” Rich asks, voice shaking slightly. When the brunet doesn’t respond, Rich climbs under the small gap, gasping when his eyes fall onto Jeremy.

The brunet is pale, even more so than usual, but his cheeks are painted a deep red that spreads across the bridge of his nose. He’s panting and trembling, and his brows are drawn in as if in pain. But, most concerning is his lack of response.

Rich crawls across the floor until he’s right in front of Jeremy. He shakes the brunet, but Jeremy only groans in pain without waking up.

“What the fuck?” Rich questions loudly. He slaps a palm to Jeremy’s forehead, only to jerk his hand away with a sharp hiss at the heat. “He’s sick.”

As soon as the two words leave his mouth, his SQUIP falls silent. Rich allows himself a small moment of relief before he’s jumping at the sound of a fist hitting the door.

“What do you mean he’s sick? Jeremy? Rich, open the fucking door!”

Rich struggles to his feet and slides the lock back. He steps out just as Michael frantically barges in.

“Jeremy?” Michael asks, voice trembling hard. He slides a hand across Jeremy’s cheek. “Jesus Christ. He’s burning up.” He says with a deep frown.

Rich sags against the wall outside of the stall, feeling suddenly exhausted.

“Was your SQUIP warning you about Jeremy?” Jake asks quietly at Rich’s side.

Rich shrugs. He can’t say for sure, but that’s what it seems like. Fucking weird, he thinks.

“We’ve got to get him home,” Michael says, voice borderline hysterical. “He’s too sick. He needs to be in bed.”

“I can carry him,” Jake offers, and Michael nods, stepping out of the way to allow Jake to lift the unconscious boy.

“Careful,” Michael says when Jake steps out of the bathroom stall with Jeremy cradled in his arms. “Watch his head.”

“I’ve got it,” Jake shoots back with a huff. “This beanpole is like five pounds.”

The two start toward the bathroom’s exit, and Rich follows, feet dragging and ears ringing while he mutters under his breath. “Fucking shady Japanese pill.”


	14. Feverish and Delirious Jeremy

The hallway floors seem long, stretching endlessly toward an unobtainable destination. Or rather, that’s how they appear to Jeremy. He keeps seeing other people, other students, disappearing through gaping holes in the wall, but he can’t seem to find his own proper place. So, he keeps walking, lifting one heavy foot after the other.

The tiled floor underneath his feet is rippling, almost as if he’s walking on water. He takes careful steps, afraid that one misstep will send him plunging into freezing water.

Freezing. He’s freezing. He wraps trembling arms around his slender frame. He needs warmth. He’s going to freeze to death. He can already feel his insides icing over. He can feel frost pushing past his skin to coat his blood. He’s in desperate need of a source of heat.

Heat. He’s suddenly hot, boiling even. The ice quickly melts away, leaving him drenched in a lukewarm water that steams off his body. His shoulders slump as the heat sucks the energy from his body just as a mosquito sucks the blood from an unknowing creature. He tugs at his shirt collar. It’s damp from sweat, but when he pulls his hand away, it’s stained a dull grey. His shirt color is bleeding out; it’s melting. His skin is melting off, dropping thickly in sloppy piles onto the floor.

_“Jeremy…”_

That voice. Jeremy tenses up, bones going rigid, lungs going silent. He squints his eyes, looking toward the end of the hall. He can see a familiar tuft of dark hair, half-curled as if the owner stopped a perm half-way.

_“Jeremy.”_

He’s suddenly closer to the owner of the voice now, and he locks eyes with glowing red ones that pierce through his mind, leaving a gaping hole that sucks in memories. He tries to capture them, but they slip through. He loses his father, Rich, Jake, Chloe, Jenna, Brooke, Christine…. Michael…. All gone. He’s left as a hollow shell with little will to live.

“Why?” He asks, voice cracking. His throat is as dry as a cracked desert ground, yearning for a rain that will never come.

_“Upgrade.”_

No, he thinks, shaking his head. He doesn’t want an upgrade. He starts moving back, feet stumbling over one another. He turns sharply and starts running, feet pounding loudly against the floor until they are sinking. He’s sinking. The floor beneath him is quicksand. It’s hot, and he’s slipping through until it’s up to his neck, small grains of sand clinging to his neck and suffocating him. It’s almost over his head. This is where he dies.

The SQUIP is suddenly in front of him, smiling as it’s body jerks in and out of focus.

“No,” Jeremy croaks out, sand pouring into his mouth, clogging his throat and blocking his airway. He’s going to die.

_“Jeremy.”_

_“Jeremy.”_

“Jeremy?”

“Jeremy!”

A sharp slap across his face pulls Jeremy back abruptly, and he doubles over, curling one hand around his throat as he coughs and coughs and coughs. He expects to find sand sprinkling the ground around him, but he’s sitting on a cold, tiled floor.

“Jeremy, what the fuck?”

Michael’s voice? Michael? Jeremy looks up when he catches his breath, and yes! It’s Michael, and he remembers Michael! He remembers every little detail there is to know about Michael Mell.

“I remember you,” Jeremy tells Michael, relief flooding his weak voice, but Michael only frowns at this and leans forward, balancing on the balls of his feet. 

“What’s going on?” Michael asks slowly, feeling as if he’s treading on dangerous territory.

“The SQUIP was here. It took my memories!” Jeremy jumps up suddenly, frantically looking around. “It could still be here,” he says, words spilling off his tongue as he grabs at Michael’s jacket sleeve. “We have to go. It’s going to try and take you from me.” He begins pulling Michael, but Michael won’t budge, and he doesn’t understand why. “Michael-”

“Jeremy, stop!”

Michael loud tone shoots across Jeremy’s trembling body, and he turns slowly, wide eyes shaking as he takes in Michael’s worried face. “Michael, we really have to go.”

Michael only responds by sliding a palm across Jeremy’s forehead, cursing quickly under his breath at the intense heat that instantly warms his hand. “Rich said he saw you wondering around the halls. Said you looked bad, but I didn’t think you’d be this bad off. How long have you been sick?”

Sick? Jeremy shakes his head. He’s not sick, is he? He’s been feeling sluggish, sure, but everyone is with finals coming up. “I’m not-” he tries, only to be cut off by a deep coughs that build from below his lungs until they are sharply shoving up his throat. He turns to cough into the crook of his elbow, to spare Michael from his illness.

“You’re sick,” Michael says, concern thickly coating his tone as he watches Jeremy struggle for breath. He places a steady hand to Jeremy’s trembling back and waits, frowning at the evident heat noticeable even through Jeremy’s sweater.

“I’m sick,” Jeremy agrees as a few weaker coughs slip past his lips. He looks to Michael, vision swimming until Michael is doubling and tripling in front of him. “I think I’m really sick.”

Michael’s heart skips a beat at this, and he drapes an arm around Jeremy’s shoulder and pulls the brunet flush to his side. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“Home?” Jeremy asks weakly, shivering hard against Michael’s side as they start the slow trek out of the school.

“I think we may need to go to the hospital actually,” Michael admits. He doesn’t want to see Jeremy laid up in a hospital bed with multiple IVs sticking from his pale arms, but this seems to be way more than just a cold.

Jeremy tenses at this, but he trusts Michael. He clears his throat, and whispers weakly against Michael’s neck.

“Okay.”


	15. Fire Elemental Hero Jeremy Jumping Into a River to Save College Crush Michael

Jeremy hates patrolling during winter. Because he’s more sensitive to the cold, he has to exert more energy tapping into the heat from his fire abilities to keep himself from freezing to death. He finds himself yearning to trade places with Goranski, who thrives during the winter season thanks to his ice abilities. But, when summer rolls back around and Rich is hiding in doors glued to an AC unit, Jeremy forgets his difficulties in winter as he runs through the streets with the heat dancing around him.

A sharp breeze whips past, brushing his hair to the side, and Jeremy shivers hard and wraps his arms around his trembling frame. “Damn,” he breathes out, scanning the streets for any sign of trouble. He’s not even sure why he’s out today. Things are typically quiet in New Jersey during the winter season because no one wants to leave the warmth of their houses.

Jeremy’s just mid-thought on how he wishes he were curled up under multiple blankets in front of a fire when his comm chirps in his ear and Rich’s loud voice bleeds through.

_“Heere! Get your ass down to the river! We’ve got trouble!”_

Jeremy’s already pushing into a sprint toward the river, eyes scanning wildly for trouble. “What’s up?” He asks, voice slightly breathless as his arms pump hard at his sides.

_“Wind bastard from the city over. He’s got someone from our school. Can’t think of the dude’s name. Michael…. Tell? Bell?”_

Jeremy skids to a halt just as the river comes into view. His eyes zero in on the scuffle at the top of the bridge that’s built over the river, and his breath catches in his throat when he spots the familiar bright red jacket.

“Mell,” he breathes out, panic breaking into pieces and clinging to every part of his body. He tenses when the Wind bastard grabs hold of Michael’s arm and drags him toward the edge of the bridge.

Michael Mell. The boy from his math class. The boy he’s been crushing hard on since the beginning of the semester.

_“Yeah, Mell!”_

Jeremy watches with bated breath. Michael’s too close to the edge. “Rich, you need to-”

All words trail off when the Wind villain shoves Michael off the bridge. Jeremy watches, face a spitting image of horror, as Michael plunges into the water with a loud splash, and before he knows it, he’s racing toward the river.

_“Jeremy, don’t!”_

“Just catch that bastard!” Jeremy shouts before sucking in a deep breath and diving into the water from the small ledge he’s on.

The icy water feels like daggers jabbing into his skin, bleeding out any ounce of warm he’s ever had. He goes numb almost instantly, but he swims forward, arms stroking quickly and feet kicking rapidly behind him.

He can see Michael sinking now only a few feet from him, and surges forward, closing the distance between the two with an alarming speed. He wraps tingling arms around Michael’s sinking frame then kicks back up toward the surface, lungs burning an icy burn within his chest.

When the two break surface, Jeremy coughs harshly and starts swimming back toward land with a worryingly motionless Michael dragging behind him. It takes a lot of effort swimming above water, but finally, Jeremy makes it back to land. He uses what little strength he has remaining to lightly toss Michael onto the grass before he pulls himself out of the water with trembling limbs.

His entire body is convulsing with chills as he hovers over Michael. He pats Michael’s cheek a few time before starting chest compressions when the latter doesn’t react.

Luckily, it takes only one set of compressions until Michael jerks awake, coughing up what seems like large portions of the river as tremors course through his body.

With Michael awake, Jeremy falls back slightly and wraps shaking arms around his trembling frame. He can hardly breathe past the intense shivers leaving him feeling as cold as death. At least, he assumes this is how death feels. His vision swims in and out of focus, almost giving off the illusion that he’s still diving through the icy waters, and his skin is prickling uncomfortably, feeling as if there’s a million needles stabbing him repeatedly.

“Shit,” Michael croaks out in between chattering teeth. He blinks water from his eyes, squinting as he takes in the shivering boy beside him. “Jeremy… Heere?” He questions, frowning and moving closer. “From my math class? You’re one of the elemental heroes, right? You’re… Shit! You’re fire!”

A weak laugh slips past Jeremy’s blue tinged lips. “Yeah,” he manages before everything goes black.

*****

Jeremy comes to when he feels something being draped around his shivering frame. A light groan slips past his lips, and he pries his eyes open at the gasp that follows.

“You’re finally awake!”

Jeremy spares one glance to his unfamiliar surroundings before craning his sore neck to see Michael Mell perched on the couch beside him with half a comforter still in his hands. He studies the sweat lining Michael’s temples, leaving loose strands of dark hair clinging to his tan, flushed skin.

“You’re sweating,” Jeremy says in between chattering teeth. How could Michael Mell be sweating when it’s so so cold still.

Michael laughs nervously before busying himself with wrapping the rest of the blanket around Jeremy. “Ah, yeah. I’ve got the heat cranked to 90 degrees.”

Jeremy nods at this before glancing around the room once more. “Where am I? How did I get here?”

“My apartment, and I carried you.”

A deep blush creeps up Jeremy’s cheeks, and he whips his head to side. “Y-you carried me?” He sputters out.

“Of course. You needed help. Plus, you saved me, so I wanted to save you.” Michael says, tips of his ears going a light red as he shoots a sheepish smile toward the shivering brunet.

Jeremy looks down, gaze locking onto the floor. “Thanks,” he mutters, face coloring an impossibly deep blush that he knows he won’t he able to hide.

“Anytime,” Michael says back before tilting his head slightly in question, frown pulling at the corners of his lips as he takes in the strong shivers still leaving Jeremy shaking violently. “Is this enough?” He asks, and when Jeremy looks up, Michael motions to the blankets.

“The heat up high and the blankets. Is it enough? You’re still shivering really bad.”

Jeremy swallows thickly. His first instinct is to nod, but a new idea pops into his head that leaves his nerves tipping over the edge. He can’t. Can he? Can he really ask his crush…?

“Jeremy?”

“Added body heat helps,” Jeremy says, words spilling quickly off his tongue. “But you don’t have to. You already look really hot, and-”

Jeremy’s words trail off when Michael unwraps a portion of the blanket and snuggles against his side before re-wrapping the blanket around the two.

“Like this?” Michael asks, snaking an arm around Jeremy’s waist and pulling the brunet flush to his side.

Jeremy is sure that his heart can be heard a mile away, and his face is officially hot with a burning blush that spreads from his neck up to his forehead, leaving him looking as a human tomato. He nods quickly and does his best to relax against his crush’s side.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“Like I said,” Michael starts, voice vibrations shooting all across Jeremy’s shivering frame. “Anytime.”


	16. Michael with Appendicitis

Assumptions are Michael’s strong suit because he sees them as a way of dancing around an unclear truth that has yet to present itself. So, when a dull bout of pain develops in his stomach, stretching across his abdomen in small waves a few days before he’s due at Jeremy’s, he writes it off as nothing more than small cramps or possibly the beginning of a twenty-four hour stomach virus.

As the rest of the week passes, his symptoms never heighten more than the slight stomach pain now accompanied with a seemingly nonexistent appetite, which he will take so long as he’s not glued to a toilet with the stomach flu.

It’s a little uncomfortable and inconvenient, but Michael will manage through just about anything if it means getting to spend time with Jeremy. So, when the time finally comes for him to head over, he forgoes short sleeves in favor of long sleeves to combat the slight chill leaving him cold and grabs his car keys while shooting off a quick “on my way” text to the brunet.

*****

“Are you okay?”

Michael tilts his head slightly in question before stepping around Jeremy to enter the room, dropping his keys atop a small table pushed against the wall before plopping down into a bean bag chair.

“Yep.” He answers, popping the ‘p’ as he leans forward to snatch up the game controller. The small movement irritates his stomach, and he winces slightly as he leans back with the controller in hand.

Jeremy catches the way Michael’s face briefly scrunches up as if in pain, and he drops his side against the door frame and crosses his arms with a frown. “Are you sure?”

Sighing, Michael shifts a lazy gaze toward Jeremy. “I’m fine,” he says, drawing out the vowel sound. “My stomach’s just been a little off this week, but it’s nothing.”

Jeremy seems hesitant, but he nods and crosses the room to take his spot in the empty bean bag chair.

“So we clear this dungeon, and that leaves us with only two more floor levels until the boss, right?” Michael asks as Jeremy starts up the console.

“Right,” Jeremy says, eyes glued to the screen as he and Michael’s previous conversation shoots to the far back of his mind.

*****

When the two-hour mark hits, the pain in Michael’s stomach shifts toward his lower abdomen, resulting in inconsistent waves of nausea that have him sweating and trembling. His vision is wavering in and out of focus, and it must impact his playing ability because Jeremy is suddenly pausing the game and shifting around to face him.

“Michael?”

There’s obvious concern coloring Jeremy’s tone, and Michael wants to verbally reassure the brunet that everything’s fine. But, he can’t make that assumption because it’s blaringly obvious that everything is in fact not okay. He turns toward Jeremy with the full intent on telling him that something is wrong, but burning bile suddenly pools at the bottom of his throat. He clamps a hand over his mouth and shoots to his feet, ignoring his swaying surroundings as he struggles toward the closest bathroom with Jeremy hot on his heels.

“Michael! What’s wrong?”

Michael ignores Jeremy’s frantic voice as he pushes into the bathroom and drops to his knees in front of the toilet, heaving almost instantly. He can sense Jeremy hovering behind him, undoubtedly watching in worry without a clue on what to do.

It’s okay, Michael thinks as another wave of nausea swells and erupts within his stomach. Maybe he will feel better after throwing up.

Now, all he has to do is stop throwing up.

It takes another seven minutes until he’s left with occasional dry heaves, stomach already having purged what little contents lingered. It’s safe, he thinks, to move away from the toilet, so he does. He slowly eases himself around until his back is resting against the bathtub beside the toilet, but the slight movement reminds him of the sharp pain stabbing at his lower right stomach, and he lets out a sharp hiss while curling his arm around his stomach and pressing his palm against the rough spot of the pain. 

“Are you okay now?” Jeremy asks, voice shaking slightly as he drops into a crouch in front of Michael.

No, Michael thinks. He’s both too hot and too cold, resulting in strong shivers coursing through his body despite the sweat sticking to his skin. His head is pounding, but that is nothing compared to the piercing pain in his stomach. He shakes his head, teeth clenched tightly as he presses his arm tighter into his stomach.

“Something’s wrong,” he spits out, chest heaving up and down in a poor attempt to keep his breathing measured.

“You really don’t look well,” Jeremy says, unsure of what else to say as he takes in Michael’s ghostly pale complexion with the only color coming from the deep red flush spread high on his cheeks. He reaches a shaking palm to Michael’s cheek, present fear heightening to an all time high at the alarming heat.

“You’re burning up!” He shouts, hopping to his feet and starting the short pace across the small length of the bathroom. “A really bad stomach flu?” He asks, eyeing Michael, but when Michael shakes his head in reply, Jeremy’s blood runs cold.

“Michael, what-”

Michael can’t deny the location of the pain any longer. He’s spent enough time on WebMD throughout the years. “Appendix,” he mutters, watching all color drain from Jeremy’s face.

“Appendix? You really think…” Jeremy looks over Michael, focusing on Michael’s shaking hand pressed hard to his lower right stomach. “Yeah, okay. So hospital. We need to get you to the hospital.” He goes to help Michael to his feet, but when the latter lets out a sharp cry of pain, Jeremy eases him back to the floor with as much care as his shaking arms can manage.

“Okay, new plan. I’ll call for an ambulance.”

“Sounds good,” Michael groans out as he curls onto his side.

*****

“At least I’ll have a sick scar,” Michael tells Jeremy from his spot on the hospital bed.

When the ambulance arrived, the paramedics took one look and Michael then stepped into high gear, and the second they arrived at the hospital, Michael was wheeled off to surgery while Jeremy was left to make the necessary family phone calls. The surgery went smoothly, and after Michael’s parents left to go get some things from home, Jeremy took a spot in the chair pulled up by Michael’s bed and waited, thankful that none of the nurses asked him to leave due to the end of visiting hours.

“You would be happy about that,” Jeremy says, failing to hide the exhaustion gripping at every edge of his body.

“Don’t you think it will make me look rugged and manly?” Michael asks with a teasing laugh as he weakly flexes one arm.

“Oh, Michael, where did you get that scar?” Jeremy starts, pausing to clear his throat before continuing in a poor attempt to mimic Michael’s voice. “Well, halfway through playing video games with my fantastic boyfriend, I found out I had appendicitis.” Jeremy breathes out a low laugh. “Real tough there, Michael.” He adds, voice back to his usual tone.

Michael laughs loud, only to stop half way in a wince. “Shut up,” he tells Jeremy lightly, and Jeremy smiles in reply before dropping his head onto the mattress beside Michael’s hand.


	17. Sick Jeremy Going to Michael's During a Blizzard

New Jersey blizzards aren’t too uncommon, but despite that, they are a nuisance in every shape and form. The wind outside whips snow around into a frightening slant that covers every surface almost instantly. It’s blinding, freezing, and incredibly dangerous.

So, of course Jeremy is sneaking out the front door to dare the ten-minute walk to Michael’s house.

He wasn’t going to go. Of course he wasn’t. Every news station was stressing how dangerous it was outside and to stay indoors at all costs, so Jeremy decided to tuck in early for his head had been bothering him for the better half of the day.

But, his dreams were plagued with nightmarish scenarios involving the SQUIP. Each setting grew darker until he was last left in an almost pitch black room, sitting beside Michael’s lifeless body while his SQUIP stands over his shoulder, whispering “it had to be done.”

After that, Jeremy’s conscious shoved forward, forcing him awake with a strangled gasping “no” slipping through his lips. After that, he attempted to get his mind off of things, but despite multiple attempts of distraction, Jeremy couldn’t shake the lingering fear clinging to his bones, and he knew the only solution was Michael.

The solution is always Michael.

It takes a lot of strength Jeremy doesn’t have to shut the front door quietly for the fierce wind is threatening to slam the wooden door back open. He just manages to keep it from slamming against the wall, and he clenches his teeth together as he pulls it closed before turning to face the dangerous elements before him.

It’s worse than the news stations let on. Jeremy can’t see anything ahead of him except for a steady blur of white that whips at his body, feeling similar to tiny sharp icicles stabbing at him. He’s shivering instantly, and he wraps one arm around his torso while lifting the other as a makeshift shield for his eyes. It doesn’t help much, but it’s all he can manage.

Walking against winds at this level feels similar to walking underwater. Jeremy’s light jacket billows behind him, as if trying to pull him back toward the safety of his house. His legs tremble with each step, and he’s not even sure if walking in the right direction. He hopes his muscle memory pans out in his favor as he presses forward with chattering teeth.

*****

When Jeremy bumps into a car, he leans as close as possible until he spots the familiar gold of Michael’s Cruiser. He would cheer out words of relief if he wasn’t shivering so hard, feeling almost as if he’s going to shake his limbs right off his body. It would also help if he could breathe. He had started coughing about halfway through his perilous journey thanks to icy winds burning his lungs.

But, he thinks, it’s okay because he made it. He forgoes the basement door, knowing that Michael is most likely the only one up on the living room TV since the heating doesn’t work well in the basement. He decides braving the front door is his best option, so he staggers the rest of the way, with the snow up to his calves, until he’s knocking against the door.

It takes him a solid two minutes of knocking until he can hear the deadbolt click unlocked. He’s finding now that he doesn’t care who answers the door so long as someone does because he feels he’s on his last leg. Standing upright is a challenge within itself, and he’s shivering hard enough that every muscle aches deeply. His lungs are burning and swelling, leaving his chest feeling hot and tight. He would be concerned by this, but the door is suddenly pulled open in front of him.

Jeremy relaxes slightly when Michael’s face comes into view, and he offers a forced smile that further irritates his cracked lips. “H-hi.”

For a moment, Michael is silent, as if his mind is taking time to catch up to the situation, but then he kicks into high gear with a muttered curse as he grabs Jeremy by the forearm and drags him inside.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Michael hisses out, voice sharp but laced with a heavy amount of worry stemming from the icy skin almost burning his hand.

Jeremy only leans into Michael’s chest, breathing out trembling breaths that match his shivering body as he attempts to fully feel the warmth of Michael. Alive.

Michael is quick to wrap strong arms around Jeremy’s shaking frame. He winces as icy, exposed parts of Jeremy’s skin press against his. “What’s wrong?” He asks, voice holding a slight tremor of fear. “Did something happen?”

Jeremy nods before nuzzling his face against Michael’s neck. “I had a nightmare that I killed you.” He whispers, with confusion and regret dancing across his veins. He knows the dream didn’t reveal how, but it had been heavily implied that Michael’s life had been taken by his hand.

Michael wants to reply that he’s alive and well, but his focus is stuttering toward the uncomfortable heat pressed into the dip of his neck. Logically, Jeremy shouldn’t be even remotely warm after braving a blizzard in a jacket that isn’t even close to being heavy enough, and yet his face is on fire, and Michael knows this isn’t from embarrassment. This is way hotter, way worse, and he gently shoves Jeremy away from him.

“Michael, what-”

Michael stretches a hand toward Jeremy’s face and slides a palm across the brunet’s forehead, frowning as the alarming heat confirms his sneaking suspicions. He drops his hand and narrows his gaze. “You’re sick,” he spits out, voice accusing, but his angered expression fades away into concern when Jeremy frowns while pressing the back of his hand to his own cheek.

“I am?” He asks, surprised at how quickly his face warms his hand. A cough slips past his lips, and he curls his hand into a fist and coughs into it a few times, each one harder and deeper than the last.

“My head has been hurting, but I didn’t realize,” Jeremy mutters when his coughing tampers off, and Michael nods, eyes wide with worry.

“Okay, let’s go into the living room,” Michael says, trying keep an authoritative tone despite desperately wanting to wake his parents and ask what to do. He ushers the shivering brunet into the living room and onto the couch before reaching for the blanket draped around the back and wrapping it around Jeremy.

Jeremy eagerly tightens the blanket around himself with trembling fingers. He cranes his neck to cough harshly into the fabric before looking back toward Michael and taking in the deep worry coloring Michael’s eyes.

“I’m freezing,” Jeremy mutters while hugging the blanket impossibly close to himself, almost tight enough to tear the seams.

Michael nods before pressing the back of his hand against Jeremy’s forehead, taking a second attempt to gauge the fever by touch alone. He’s no doctor, but Jeremy is entirely too warm; it has him worried enough to spare a glance toward his parent’s bedroom.

“You’re burning up,” Michael tells him, gnawing lightly on his lower lip as he takes in Jeremy’s harsh shivering. He’s at a loss of what to do. Does he get more blankets to combat Jeremy’s shivering, or does he leave the brunet with only one blanket to accommodate the fever?

After a few more moments of deliberation, he opts for one more blanket as well as medicine and water, but when he gets Jeremy settled in better on the couch after giving the brunet the medicine, he looks on with a frown as Jeremy continues to shiver miserably despite the pills and the added blanket. 

“What can I do?” Michael asks, heart wrenching at how terrible Jeremy looks.

“Just stay close,” Jeremy manages between chattering teeth. He wants nothing more than to just feel Michael’s steady heart beat against his palm.

Michael climbs onto the couch and pulls one layer of blanket back. He snakes his arm around Jeremy’s back and pulls the brunet to his chest. “Is this okay?” He asks, and Jeremy wordlessly frees one hand and places it against Michael’s chest while breathing out a low sigh. 

“Yes.”


	18. Jeremy's Sick and Confessing How He Can Still See/Hear the SQUIP ft. Caretaker Michael

“Dude, you look like a zombie right out of Apocalypse of the Damned.”

Jeremy only spares a brief glance toward Michael before dragging his feet across the floor to get to Michael’s bed. He climbs onto the soft mattress and maneuvers himself around until he’s perched at the front of the bed with his back pressed against the headboard. He draws his knees to his chest and breathes out a shaking sigh as he drops his chin atop one knee.

“Dude, really. Are you okay?” Michael asks, previous teasing in his voice now replaced with a shaking concern for the the brunet. He crosses the room and drops down onto the edge of the bed in front of Jeremy, twisting his body so that he can fully face the brunet.

Jeremy shakes his head, light strands of soft brown hair sticking to the thin sheen of sweat lining his temples. He drops his forehead against his knee, neck feeling suddenly too heavy to support the voices in his head. 

He’s not okay, not by a long shot. Soft tremors start at his toes and creep up to his limbs as his composure cracks like an old, broken mirror, jagged pieces falling away to reveal his inner workings.

“Jeremy,” Michael breathes out, shifting around until he’s perched on his knees directly facing the brunet. There’s a blaring hint of fear in his voice that leaves his muscles tensing as he watches Jeremy tremble in front of him. “Look at me.”

Jeremy looks up slowly, and Michael is quick to cup a hand to the brunet’s cheek, frowning at the worrying heat clinging to Jeremy’s skin. He slides his palm up to Jeremy’s forehead to confirm before letting his hand drop to Jeremy’s knee.

“You’re burning up,” Michael whispers, voice shaking with his ever-increasing fear for the brunet, but Jeremy shakes his head once more at Michael’s words, prompting Michael to tilt his head in question.

“I’m not,” Jeremy starts, voice cracking as silent tears well in his eyes. “I’m cold. Freezing.” His shoulders hunch against a strong set of shivers as if to drive his point forward.

Michael’s already reaching for his blanket. “That’s just the fever,” he starts as he brings the blanket toward Jeremy, but Jeremy suddenly curling icy fingers around his wrist as him freezing in place.

“Jer-”

“This is different,” Jeremy whispers, eyes wide and colored with an absent panic that Michael can’t follow.

“I can still see it everywhere. In my house, on the streets, in my dreams,” Jeremy says quietly, eyes darting around as if he’s expecting the SQUIP to be there. “And I can hear it, Michael,” he adds, fingers tightening around Michael’s wrist as strong shivers shoot across his limbs. “I can still hear it’s cold voice in my head. Everyday. It never goes away.” He uses his free hand to tug at his hair. “It’s just there, always whispering in my ear.” He tugs harder at his damp locks as if he can tug the SQUIP straight from his head.

“Jeremy-”

“And it’s the worst at night. God, it’s so hard at night. I can’t sleep because that’s when it’s the loudest. It just screams, over and over, calling me a loser and a coward and useless and,” Jeremy stops, gasping for breath as his shoulders shake with light sobs. “I can’t- I don’t know what to do.”

Words are a loss on Michael’s lips, so he presses up on his knees and wraps strong arms around Jeremy’s trembling frame, ignoring the uncomfortable jab of Jeremy’s knees into his stomach. “It’s okay,” he tells Jeremy, but Jeremy only cries harder into the dip of his neck.

“I feel like I’m falling apart,” Jeremy mutters, voice barely audible against his gasping sobs.

Michael’s heart plummets low in his chest, and before he knows it, tears are springing in his own eyes. “Let me put you back together,” he tells Jeremy before pulling away to meet Jeremy’s red-rimmed eyes. “I will put you back together.”

“How?” Jeremy questions weakly, and next thing he knows, Michael is moving until they are side by side and pulling him against his broad chest. Jeremy presses his ear to Michael’s chest and listens for the rapid heart beat thumping against his ear.

“Like this,” Michael mumbles, and Jeremy relaxes as Michael’s soft voice lowly rumbles across his trembling body. “I’ve got you, Jeremy. I’ll chase the SQUIP away, so just sleep.” With a free hand, he pulls the blanket over Jeremy’s trembling frame before moving his hand to card his fingers through Jeremy’s damp hair.

The two fall silent, and instantly, Jeremy’s mind is filled with voices that talk over his, making his the quietest of the bunch. He sucks in a shaky breath and squeezes his eyes shut. “Can you sing or something? I can’t…. I don’t like the silence.”

Michael starts lightly singing, and Jeremy practically melts at the sound. The tension coloring his face washes away to a relaxed expression, and he drifts off to the quiet sounds of Michael singing through their favorite playlist.


	19. Ficlet: Michael Kissing Jeremy Because He Has Nothing Left to Lose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This doesn't really pertain to H/C (unless you count emotional hurt), but this idea popped in my head the second I read the prompt. Here's a tiny ficlet.

“Get out of my way. Loser.”

That is definitely not the “L” word Michael ever wanted to hear directed toward him from Jeremy’s lips, and yet…

It feels as if a dagger laced with poison has been driven into his side by Jeremy’s steady hand. Not his heart; that would be too fast. No, this has to be a slow, drawn out process where he slowly grows weaker with each passing day until he’s lost the will to live while only minutes from being pulled away from Death’s icy grip.

It’s the end, he tells himself. The two players, the dynamic duo, the best friends- it’s all gone. There’s nothing more Michael can lose because he’s already lost it all in the form of Jeremy’s cold, harsh eyes boring holes into him.

So, he thinks. Why not? Why not do the one thing he’s been anxious to do since he first laid small, squinting eyes on Jeremy’s tiny face in Kindergarten.

He steps forward before he can talk himself out of it and leans in close to Jeremy’s face.

“Michael? What are you-”

Michael shuts Jeremy up by pressing his lips firmly against Jeremy’s, and for a moment, it feels as if a bolt of lightning jumps between the two. There’s a spark of electricity that pulls the two together, and Michael’s hand finds Jeremy’s neck just as Jeremy’s hand finds Michael’s waist.

The tension between the two melts away as a glowing fire burns through their veins, but then all too soon, a gust of icy wind is billowing between the two when Jeremy pulls away and slams his back to the bathroom door, chest heaving as he runs his tongue along his deep pink lips.

There’s conflict tugging at Jeremy’s face, but the tell-tale hint of desire is burning in his eyes. Michael can tell, and his shoulders lift as a string of hope pulls him upward. They can make this work, he thinks as his heart flutters against his chest like a young bird desperate to fly.

“Jeremy-”

“I…” Jeremy starts, only to jerk his head to the right with a gasp. “Shut up,” he growls to the open air beside him, and Michael frowns and takes a hesitant step forward.

“Jeremy?” He asks when the brunet has yet to look back to him. He reaches one hand out, freezing half-way when Jeremy suddenly turns back toward him while reaching blindly for the doorknob behind him.

“I’m sorry… I can’t.”

Michael watches, still frozen in place, as Jeremy rips the door open and stumbles out of the bathroom and back to the party. The door slams closed, and it’s only then that Michael’s hand drops back to his side.

His knees buckle as he walks toward the bathroom sink, and he grips the edges of the cool porcelain as he stares at his pale, sunken face in the mirror.

A single, biting laugh slips past his pressed lips that contrasts the hot tears that slide down his cheeks. He spares a moment to wonder how he got here.

How he became merely Michael in the bathroom at a party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.


	20. Hurt Spider-Man Jeremy and Caretaker Michael

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very excited to share this one with you guys!

Jeremy’s quick and flexible, but he slips up while he’s gearing up to swing toward an opposite building to put some space between he and SQUIP. The rooftop beneath him is slick from the persistent downpour, and his foot slides out from underneath him just as he’s about to leap off the side of the building. He hits the ground hard and let’s out a low groan as he pushes himself up on his elbows.

“Clumsy for a supposed superhero.”

Jeremy breathes out a shaky laugh. “Minor setback,” he grumbles, but before he can get to his feet, SQUIP is pinning him back to the ground with pointy knees against his legs.

“I wasn’t aware you were into all this,” Jeremy says, voice teasing as he motions with his head to the compromising position the two are in. “I mean, I’m not really into villains, but-”

Whatever snarky comment to follow is lost by a sharp blade slicing across his stomach. He gasps, a pained breath shooting up his throat, as his entire body tenses against the blade.

“You are annoying.”

“Is this what you do to all of the people who annoy you?” Jeremy asks, teeth clenched so hard that his jaw line pushes hard against his skin until it’s jutting out in a defined edge. “I’d hate to see what you do to a-”

A fist collides with his face, and his arms give out until he’s falling down onto his back once more.

“Don’t you know how to shut up?”

“I’m not very good at it,” Jeremy admits as he blinks rapidly against hazy vision. He pushes back up on his elbows when SQUIP suddenly stands, and he wiggles his tingling legs with a wince.

“You are too weak. Come get me when you have an actual Avenger with you.”

“I am an actual-” He shouts just as SQUIP shoots up toward the sky until he disappears behind dark rain clouds. “Avenger…”

A loud groan scrapes up his throat when he forces himself into a sitting position. The small movement pulls uncomfortably at the wound across his stomach, and he lets out a sharp hiss while pressing one arm over it. There’s a damp warmth that coats his arm in an instant, and it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that he’s bleeding pretty badly.

A hospital would be ideal, but he’s not sure what kind of response he would get as Spider-Man stumbling into a hospital late at night.

It’s not a good idea, and he can’t go back to the Avengers’ Tower because Tony would have his head on a silver platter for being so reckless.

He needs an alternative plan, but luckily, he knows a guy who would be more than willing to help a hero. Very slowly, he gets to his feet and starts toward Michael Mell’s house.

*****

Scaling the side of a house is something that normally comes easy to Jeremy, but this gash on his stomach has him moving with a slow caution so to not further irritate the bleeding wound. After what feels like years, he reaches Michael’s window, and he raps his knuckles lightly against a glass pane, smiling faintly as the light instantly clicks on behind the curtains.

It takes only moments until the curtains are being shoved back, and Jeremy offers a slight wave and a sheepish smile as Michael’s face shifts from a pinched confusion to a slacked surprise in a matter of seconds.

Moments later, Michael is pushing the window open, ignoring the rain as he sticks his head out with wide eyes.

“Spider-Man!? I–What?”

“Mind if I come in?” Jeremy asks. “It’s a little wet out here.”

“Of course!” Michael steps back, and Jeremy slips through the small gap. His feet hit the wooden floor with a dull thud, but the small drop is enough to leave him doubled over and gasping in pain. He presses one arm back to his stomach just as Michael wraps a shaking arm around his back.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I had a freak cooking accident?” Jeremy manages out, breathing sharply through the inconsistent waves of pain washing across his body.

“No,” Michael says almost instantly before gently walking Spider-Man over to the bed. He drops to a crouch in front of the hero, eyes surprisingly steady and focused despite the fear and shock that has small tremors coursing through his body. “May I?” He asks softly, one hand hovering over Spider-Man’s stomach.

Jeremy shrugs and moves his arm. He tries to ignore the sharp gasp from Michael, and he tries much harder to keep the wincing to a dull minimum when Michael gently prods at the gash.

“Well, Doc? What’s the verdict? Will I Iive?” Jeremy asks, trying to keep his voice light to mask the sharp pain threatening to bleed out into his tone.

“It’s bad, but I can treat it here.” Michael tells him before standing and starting toward his dresser. “I can lend you clothes…”

It makes sense, Jeremy thinks. He’s feeling quite chilled through in his drenched uniform, but he can’t. Well, he could, but… “The mask stays on.”

“Of course,” Michael says quickly before rifling through a few drawers. He pulls out some dry clothes and hands them to Spider-Man. “You can change in here. I’ll– I need to go get supplies.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Jeremy chirps out just before Michael exits the room. Changing is difficult when you have a drenched, skin-tight suit clinging to your body on top of a gaping wound spread across your stomach, but after a few minutes, he’s changed into warm, dry clothes and perched on the bed, panting for breath as nausea mixes with pain and leaves him breathless. Thankfully, Michael returns with a courtesy knock only moments later.

“Sorry,” Michael says, blushing lightly. “The shirt.”

“Oh! Right!” Jeremy slips the shirt over his head, shivering lightly at the cool air hitting his bare skin. He spares another glance down toward his stomach, frowning deeply at the bleeding gash that has his skin split deeply.

“So, what happened?” Michael asks quietly as he resumes his position crouched in front of Spider-Man to get to work. He begins with cleaning the wound; he knows what to do thanks to multiple hours spent lost on medical sites when bored.

Jeremy hisses out sharply at the icy sting that irritates his gash, but he doesn’t pull away and waves away Michael’s hushed apology in response to his discomfort. “SQUIP doesn’t seem to appreciate my charm and wit.”

Michael freezes at this, and he shoots a sharp look toward Spider-Man. “SQUIP did this? Did you get him?”

Frowning, Jeremy turns his head to the side to examine the many band posters littering Michael’s walls. “No,” he says, voice low and holding a slight rasp. “He didn’t want to waste his time on me because I’m not a real Avenger.” His shoulders slump as the realization slowly pulses across his veins.

“I think you are a real Avenger.”

The hope and sincerity coloring Michael’s tone has Jeremy turning back with a wide smile. “You think so?”

“I do!”

Jeremy’s heart flutters against his chest, but a sudden yawn catches him off guard and contradicts his sudden, brightened mood.

“You must be exhausted. Let me finish up here, then you can sleep.”

“That sounds amazing,” Jeremy admits as exhaustion sets in deep within his chilled bones.

*****

Michael watches with a frown as Spider-Man shivers in his sleep. He knows it’s the damp mask that has to be impossibly uncomfortable, and his worry for the hero has him reaching up toward the mask.

It’s for the best, he tells himself as he very carefully slides the mask off, eyes growing wide when Spider-Man’s true face is revealed. His heart leaps up his throat as he studies the boy in front of him.

Someone he knows.

Someone he likes. A lot.

His face glows a deep red blush as he drops his back against his nightstand. 

He’s in for a long night.

*****

Jeremy wakes feeling like he’s just had one of the best sleeps of his life. The gash across his stomach has numbed to a dull throb, and he rolls his head to the side to see Michael watching him with a faint smile.

“Sorry I stole your bed,” Jeremy rasps out, voice thick with sleep.

“That’s okay, Jeremy.”

The smile painting Jeremy’s lips curls down into a deep frown, and he shoots into a sitting position while patting his unmasked face. “What the hell?” He spits out sharply before his face twists in pain, and he drapes an arm across his stomach with a low groan. 

In seconds, Michael is on the bed in front of him, and he leans over and places a steady hand to Jeremy’s knee. “Hey, easy. It’s okay. I’m not going to tell anyone.”

Jeremy’s heart is rapidly pounding against his chest, but slowly, he feels as if a weight is lifted from his shoulders. He can share this secret with someone. He doesn’t have to hide this from Michael. He doesn’t have to bare this hidden life by himself. It’s what he’s always wanted, a friend, or something more, to know. His cheeks heat with a light blush, and he rubs at the back of his neck.

“Uh, hi.”

Michael laughs and tilts his head, eyes glowing and fond for the boy in front of him.

“Hi.”


	21. Sick Michael ft. Caretaker Jeremy, Who Catches Michael's Cold

_{From Michael Mell Is Mine} can u get a ride with rich or someone 2day? I’m not going in bc I’m sick_

Jeremy stares hard at the text as if he can tear apart each word with his narrow gaze. While he knows Michael is familiar with text lingo thanks to multiple group chats, the latter rarely, if ever, uses it because he feels he’s more of a classic soul.

So, the shortened words are an instant trigger to Jeremy, and his thumb hovers over the “call” button as a tiny bolt of fear sparks at his heart. Michael isn’t the one who gets sick; that’s Jeremy’s job. In the time since they’ve known each other, Jeremy can count all of the times Michael has been sick on one hand. The boy is surprisingly healthy considering his poor eating and sleeping habits whereas Jeremy has lost track of the number of times he’s been laid up in bed fighting off some illness.

Instead of calling, Jeremy locks his phone and slips it into his pants pocket before dropping his backpack onto the floor. School can wait; Michael can’t.

*****

The second Michael opens his front door, he’s already trying to push it back closed, but Jeremy stops it with a foot against the door frame.

“No, Jeremy.” Michael says in between chesty coughs. “You will get sick. Just go to school.”

Jeremy has to place both hands on the door as added force to keep it from closing in his face. “No, let me in.” He tries, voice holding an air of confidence that’s only faltering under a steady hint of worry.

“Jeremy-”

“Michael Alexander Mell, you better open this damn door and let me in.”

There’s a long beat of silence that’s only filled with the worrying crackle coating each of Michael’s rasping breaths, but finally, Michael caves and opens the door wide enough for Jeremy to slip in.

“Bed,” Jeremy orders almost instantly, and Michael doesn’t even bother arguing because he doesn’t see the point when Jeremy shifts into “Ultimate Boyfriend” mode.

So, Michael just shuffles as if on autopilot as Jeremy guides him to the bedroom with a steady hand on his back. When he flops down on his bed with a low groan that causes a minor coughing fit, Jeremy is quick to lean forward and press a cool palm to his heated forehead.

“Have you taken your temperature?” Jeremy asks as he flips his hand and slides the backs of his fingers gently down to Michael’s cheek. There’s an evident trace of fever from the heat clinging to Michael’s skin, and a pit of worry settles deep within Jeremy’s stomach.

“No,” Michael manages in between grating coughs. “I don’t need to check to know I’m running a fever.” As if to emphasize his point, a sudden wave of chills seeps in through his glistening skin and settles deep within his bones until he’s shivering and tugging at his blanket.

Jeremy frowns deeply at this, and his forehead creases in concern. He helps get Michael tucked in before he drops down onto the edge of the bed with a sigh. “I hate seeing you like this.”

Michael slips one hand free to lace his fingers with Jeremy’s. “I’m not dying. It’s just a bad cold.”

“Still,” Jeremy presses as he brings Michael’s hand to his mouth to brush a gentle kiss across cold skin. “I’m going to take care of you so we can get this getting better process going.”

“You will get sick,” Michael says, tone flat and leaving no room for argument.

Jeremy knows this, but he could care less. Instead, he drops Michael’s hand and slips out of the room in search of a thermometer and medicine.

*****

The following morning, Jeremy jerks awake from his phone ringing beside his ear. The loud tone bleeds into his head, mixing with the dull throb in an uncomfortable manner, and he grabs it and swipes to answer without checking who the hell would call this early in the morning.

“Hello?” He asks, voice cracking until he’s succumbing to a series of weak coughs slipping past his lips.

_“I knew it.”_

Jeremy shoots into a sitting position at the accusing tone. “Michael!?”

_“You’re sick.”_

A statement, and only that. But, Jeremy is going to argue because he’s not. He’s fine. “I’m-” he starts, only to be cut off by a series of sharp, frame-shaking sneezes.

_“You were saying?”_

“I might be a little sick,” Jeremy admits, voice small and soft in the midst of sudden defeat.

_“I’m on my way.”_


	22. Rich With Food Poisoning and Jake Freaking Out

At the time, Rich didn’t think anything of scarfing down gas station sushi; he’s never been one to pay attention to labels when it comes to food. So what if the food is sold in a gas station? To him, it didn’t make the flavor any less delicious.

But, regret tastes sour on his tongue, and he finds himself wishing for his SQUIP’s steady guidance as he struggles against sharp cramps that flow along inconsistent waves of nausea while he climbs the stairs to the roof to meet Jake during their lunch period.

The very top of the school building serves as the two’s secret hide out where they can drop the acts that keep their reputations in check for a while and just be two boys on a roof.

When Rich pushes the door open, Jake is already there, sitting with his back against the brick wall right to his left.

“Took you long enough, bro.”

Rich swallows thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing weakly against neck as he shoots Jake a narrow gaze. “Shut it, bro,” he fires back with a burning emphasis on the final word.

He slowly walks around Jake to take the empty spot beside the boy, and he ignores Jake’s piercing, questioning stare up until he’s flopping down against hard gravel with a low groan.

“Someone is pissy today.”

Jake’s voice holds a slight hint of anger that is laced with a bout of annoyance, but Rich still catches onto the subtle rasp of concern. He needs to deflect; that’s what his SQUIP would have told him.

“I’m always pissy when I see your face.”

“You didn’t have to come.”

Jake’s response is quick, and Rich winces at the harsh tone. He drops his gaze toward the ground and fiddles with a small pebble. “Sorry,” he mutters, voice almost lost along the sharp breeze whipping past the two.

“Are you okay?”

Rich can hear Jake shifting beside him, and when he slowly pulls his face up toward the sound, Jake is crouched in front of him, sporting one of his rare, worried expressions that he seems to only ever hold when with Rich.

Rich opens his mouth to tell Jake that he’s good, but his stomach lurches just as his lips part, and he quickly presses up on his knees and shoves at Jake’s shoulder before heaving onto the gravel directly beside Jake. He can see Jake jump to his feet from his peripherals, but the latter hovers close while Rich digs his hands into the gravel as if he can physically pull himself away from the nausea that has him gagging harshly.

His throat burns, and his breaths get lost against the bile shooting up his throat. His stomach jolts and cramps as he heaves onto the small pebbles, and his entire body is trembling hard enough that he fails to feel the hand on his back until Jake’s voice echoes close to his ear.

“Take it easy, bro.”

Jake’s voice holds a slight tremor that has Rich looking over with furrowed brows during a brief bout of relief where he can catch his breath. “What’s-”

Whatever else Rich had planned to say falls lost against a loud gag that has him turning back to heave once more onto the rooftop. His entire body goes tense as a strong wave of nausea rips through him, so much that he could topple over at any moment. It’s violent and painful, but when his stomach settles, the adrenaline coursing through him tampers off until he’s left panting while barely holding himself up over his pool of vomit.

Beside him, Jake is back on his feet and backing away, gravel crunching quietly under the weight of his tennis shoes.

“You should probably, like, move away from that.”

Rich obeys. He carefully crawls backwards, away from the mess until he’s hitting the brick wall. He sags against it, chest heaving up and down in giant gasps as he shakes from head to toe.

“Are you sick?”

Rich shrugs and rolls his head to the side to see Jake looking thoroughly freaked out. “What’s your deal?” He asks, voice raspy but the annoyance still bleeds through. What does Jake have to be freaked out about? It’s not like he’s never thrown up before. Rich has lost count of how many times the two have fought for the toilet the morning after a large party.

“Like, I can’t get sick, bro. Friday’s game is massive. But, you look like shit.”

Rich’s brows knit together in confusion that contrasts the slight twitch of annoyance in his eye. “You’re an asshole.”

“No, bro. You aren’t getting it. I’m– I… I’m trying to think of a way to take care of you without getting sick.”

Rich’s face collapses into a color of surprise, and he tilts his head, tired eyes scanning Jake’s posture to see if there’s any hint of a lie. But, he can only spot sincerity in Jake’s tense shoulders.

“It’s probably food poisoning.” Rich tells him, hoping to ease Jake’s rigid stance, but Jake isn’t having it.

“Your cheeks are all red. You look like you have a fever.”

Rich presses one hand to his cheek. He can feel a hint of warmth, nothing major. He knows it’s just food poisoning because the progression of his symptoms adds up with the time he ate the damned sushi.

“No, dude, really. I had some sushi from a gas station this morning. It must have been bad.” He watches as Jake takes hesitant steps forward until he’s dropping into a crouch a safe distance from Rich, and Rich sighs loudly when Jake reaches out to poke at his forehead.

“You feel warm.”

“Sometimes people get feverish with food poisoning.” Rich counters with a tired voice, and Jake drops his hand, brows furrowing together.

“So I won’t catch this?”

“Did you eat gas station sushi this morning?”

“No…”

“Then you won’t get this,” Rich says, and seconds later, he’s being hauled to his feet by Jake’s strong hands. His knees buckle, but Jake is there with a steady arm snaked around his waist.

“Bro, what are you-”

“Let’s get you home, bro.”

Rich cranes his neck to glance toward the mess on the roof. “Shouldn’t we clean that?” He asks as he’s being pulled toward the door.

“It will probably rain at some point.”

Rich shakes his head at this, but he sags against Jake’s side as the latter helps him off the roof.


	23. Ficlet: Jeremy Fainting At The Sight Of Blood

When Rich slips off his skateboard and falls hard to his bare knees, Jake laughs a bellowing laugh that garners Jeremy and Michael’s attention from their shared spot on a bench not too far away. 

The two approach, with Michael only a half-step faster, and Jake greets them with a breathy “hi” as he doubles over with his hands braced against his knees to suck in enough breath to compensate his near constant laughing. 

When Rich groans and shifts until his legs are stretched out in front of him, Michael spots the blood sprinkling Rich’s right knee before anyone else, and he’s moving before Jeremy can get a breath in. He whips around and begins shoving at Jeremy’s shoulders in a forceful attempt to get the brunet to turn around. 

“Jake can handle this,” Michael says through clenched teeth as he desperately pushes at Jeremy, but Jeremy is a silent saint at heart, and he fights against Michael’s tense hands. 

“But, what if Rich is hurt?” Jeremy presses as he cranes his neck to try and get a decent glance at the scene. “He hasn’t gotten up yet. Rich?” 

Jeremy, Michael realizes, is surprisingly strong when persistent, and Michael struggles to keep Jeremy grounded before him. He grasps at Jeremy’s shirt, fingers tightly curling around the loose fabric in a last minute attempt to keep the brunet from side-stepping around him. 

“Jeremy-” 

Jeremy utilizes his long legs to step far enough out of Michael’s reach, and he only has to tug slightly to free himself from Michael’s tight grip. He takes two steps toward Rich but freezes suddenly, missing Michael’s deep-set groan as his heart begins to thump loudly in his ears. 

Jake is closest, and when he finally manages to stop laughing, he turns toward Rich, eyes doing a quick sweep over the boy before coming to a stuttering halt at Rich’s knee. 

“Holy shit,” Jake breathes out. “Is that-”

“Blood,” Jeremy finishes weakly just before his legs give out from underneath him as his entire world shoots to black. 

Michael dives forward and grabs at Jeremy’s listless body, and the two topple to the ground, with only Michael moaning lightly in pain. He recovers quickly enough and shifts Jeremy around in his arms until he can see the brunet’s ghostly pale face that gives off not even the slightest hint of color. 

“Shit,” Michael mutters under his breath as he begins lightly patting Jeremy’s clammy cheek in a soft attempt at rousing the brunet. 

“Yo, is he good?” Jake asks, moving a little closer to hover behind Michael with Rich following suit only seconds after him. 

Michael doesn’t look from Jeremy as he acknowledges the two. “He can’t handle the sight of blood.” 

Both Jake and Rich look toward Rich’s scraped knee that, while seemingly red and irritated, has already stopped bleeding, with only small specs of blood drying against the small cut. 

“It’s not even that bad,” Rich points out as he gives his leg a small shake to rid the lingering pain from the fall. 

Sighing, Michael pats Jeremy’s cheek a little harder, palm hitting skin with a quiet smack, and Jeremy’s groans under the touch and tries to weakly jerk his head away. 

“He really, really can’t handle the sight of blood,” Michael supplies, almost absently, just as Jeremy’s eyes flutter open. 


	24. Michael Caring For Jeremy With A Cold Then Catching It

“You shouldn’t be here.” 

Jumping slightly at the sudden voice, Jeremy looks up from his locker to see Michael watching him with furrowed brows. He shrugs and turns back to his books, eyeing each one until he spots his History book buried underneath four others, but when he crouches lower to slip it out, the small movement leaves his head swimming, and he has to grab weakly at the locker door to keep from teetering over.

“Jeremy,” Michael warns, voice low yet holding an evident color of concern that has Jeremy breathing out a small sigh. And, this proves to be a mistake when the short release of breath catches in his throat abruptly enough to have him turning away in one, sharp movement to cough harshly into the crook of his arm. 

He doesn’t fall into a fit, thank the stars, but the few coughs were forceful enough to leave his lungs rattling in his chest. He presses one hand to his chest with a frown before turning back to look at Michael with tired eyes. “I’m okay,” he tries, voice faint and rasping after a night filled with coughing fits.

“You really believe that?” Michael asks, quirking one eyebrow up as he leans against the lockers and crosses his arms. From his view point, Jeremy looks like he’s got one foot across the doorway that leads straight to hell. The brunet’s cheeks are painted a deep red that extends across the bridge of his nose. Despite that glowing color, the rest of his face is a few shades paler than usual, with the only other exception coming from the faint, red tinge colored around Jeremy’s nose. Michael can hear the subtle wheeze that drifts across Jeremy’s open-mouthed breaths, and there’s a muffled crackling sound that Michael fears is a result of weak lungs. 

Jeremy stands after he secures his History book. The floor underneath his feet tilts against his legs, but he plays it off by falling back against the lockers with a low huff. “No,” he tells Michael. He knows full and well that he’s not okay, but his father is away on business, something he never thought would happen again in his lifetime, and he’s not about to bother the older man just because he caught a nasty cold. “But what am I supposed to do?”

Michael isn’t sure whether he should laugh at Jeremy’s sudden bout of stupidity of allow the concern tugging at his heart to release in long waves across his veins. He opts for a mix of both when he clears his throat. “Stay in bed and rest? That’s what people do when they’re sick.” Though his words suggest teasing, the worry bleeding throughout his tone is strong and evident.

Shrugging, Jeremy moves to walk past Michael to their shared History class, but he stops when strong fingers latch onto his wrist and pull him back until he’s facing Michael once more. He wants to tell Michael to let him go, but his words are lost against a breathy moan of relief when Michael’s blessedly cool palm smooths across his forehead.

“Okay, we are going home,” Michael says as he jerks his hand away all too soon from Jeremy’s burning forehead. “You’re running a fever, and you really don’t need to be here.” 

There’s a protest burning hot on Jeremy’s tongue, but it’s lost against a sudden fit of sneezing that has his shoulders shaking with each forceful sneeze. He silently welcomes the steady hand that presses against his back as a light groan slips past his parted lips when the sneezing tampers off. He sniff and rubs gingerly at his nose with his jacket sleeve, and he foregoes protesting in favor of leaning into Michael’s grounded warmth as the latter redirects their steps toward the school’s exit.

*****

Michael’s house is so familiar to Jeremy as the two shuffle down hallways until they are crossing a doorway into Michael’s room. Jeremy isn’t even sure why they came here and not back to his house, but his throat hurts too much to verbally question this. He opts, instead, to shoot an arched-brow look toward Michael just as Michael motions for him to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Your dad’s not home,” Michael answers as he starts to leave the room. “I’ll be right back.” 

Jeremy frowns at this, and he hunches forward and braces his elbows atop his knees as his mind pushes past the persistent throb to wonder absently. His thoughts carry him off to a new place with a new setting, but he’s abruptly pulled back to the present when Michael crouches in front of him and places a cool palm to his cheek.

“You with me, dude? I’ve been calling your name for like a solid minute.” Michael says as he tries to not physically recoil away from the heat of Jeremy’s cheek. The worry splayed across his face is prominent, so much that Jeremy’s features soften. 

“Sorry, I zoned out.” 

“No shit,” Michael says, though his tone holds no hostility to it. He holds the thermometer up, and Jeremy wordlessly opens his mouth in compliance for Michael to slip the small device under his tongue. 

The two are silent, but both grow increasingly worried when the thermometer takes an extended amount of time to beep. The second it does, Michael is just a second faster than Jeremy, and he snatches the thermometer and frowns deeply at the 102.4 degree reading.

“This seems like more than a cold, Jeremy.” 

Michael’s tone is laced heavily with concern, and Jeremy takes the thermometer to asses for himself. He’s honestly not too surprised by the high numbers blinking back at him; he’s used to running hot when sick. He presses the off button on the thermometer and hands it to Michael before slipping his shoes off to get fully into the bed. He can tell Michael wants to push further with his theory that Jeremy is battling more than a cold based on the tight look he’s sporting, so Jeremy waves a weak hand as he flops against the pillows with a chesty cough.

“My body is a little extra when I get sick.” 

“Extra?” Michael says slowly as if trying to pick apart the word. “This isn’t a joke.” 

The single, chesty cough blows up into a fit that has Jeremy pushing up on his elbows and pressing one fist to his mouth. “I’m not,” he starts on ragged breaths in between coughs, “joking.”

Michael’s torn between pressing further, but Jeremy’s reddening face has him dropping onto the edge of the bed and offering a comforting hand of support to Jeremy’s knee. “Okay, just breathe, dude.”

“Easier said than done,” Jeremy fires back roughly as his lungs rattle in his chest with each, forceful cough. It isn’t until silent tears are streaming down his burning cheeks that his coughing finally tampers off. 

“That hurt,” he mutters, rubbing at his chest as he drops back against the pillows with a low groan that further irritates his already throbbing throat. 

“Should I call your dad?” Michael asks, feeling, for the first time, out of his element in this. He knows Jeremy’s immune system is on the weaker side, but he can’t come up with a proper time that he’s ever seen Jeremy this bad. 

“No, you can just leave me here to die. That works.” Jeremy replies weakly as he drapes on arm over his eyes and breathes loudly through his mouth since his nose is apparently failing as an additional source of breathing for the moment. 

Despite everything, Michael laughs at this, a breathy laugh that carries a slight hint of heart to it. “Don’t be so dramatic,” he tells the brunet just as he stands from the bed.

Jeremy lifts his arm and mocks offense with a large palm to his chest. “I’m an actor, Michael. I have a flare for the dramatics.”

At this, Michael laughs harder, and he shakes his head as he studies the medicine labels on the multiple bottles of pills he brought in. “You’ve been in one play, Jeremy, and I don’t even know if we can count that since the play was interrupted by SQUIPs wanting to take over the world.”

Jeremy ignores the brief twinge of fear that leaves his heart stuttering against his chest at the mention of the SQUIP in favor of laughing quietly. “I still went to the practices,” he argues, voice rough and tired.

Michael doesn’t miss the exhaustion creeping into Jeremy’s tone, and he unscrews the cap of one pill bottle and drops back onto the edge of the bed. “Okay, Brad Pitt. Let’s get some medicine in you, so you can rest.”

“You really think I look like Brad Pitt?” Jeremy asks through a weak cough as he sits up and takes the pills and water bottle Michael is offering him. 

“Not in the slightest,” Michael says with a teasing smile as Jeremy downs the pills. 

*****

Jeremy spends the rest of the day in a fevered haze, but Michael never leaves his side. Michael smooths cool, damp clothes across Jeremy’s forehead, and when the time is necessary, he pulls Jeremy from fitful bouts of sleep to load the brunet up on new medicine. When chills wrack Jeremy’s slender frame, Michael piles on a mountain of blankets to help ease the shivers, and when Jeremy utters a single complaint of the heat, he peels the blankets back to allow the cool of his room to wash over Jeremy’s heated skin. The temperature fluctuations are inconsistent, but Michael keeps up with everything to the best of his abilities.  

For a while, his efforts seem useless, especially when Jeremy’s fever spikes to a worrying 103.2, but after hours and hours when the two are well into the night, Jeremy’s fever breaks, and Michael collapses in an exhausted heap on the empty side of the bed and falls asleep almost instantly.

However, only hours later, Michael is pulled from sleep by a persistent tickle in his nose, and he shoots up just as a sneezing fit wracks his tired frame. He sneezes multiple times, and when he’s finished, he feels a trembling hand press against his back.

“Michael?” Jeremy asks quietly, voice stronger than before and woven with a deep-set concern. He can feel a faint heat through Michael’s thick shirt, and his heart plummets as Michael coughs weakly a few times before turning toward him.

“I’m okay,” Michael says with a voice thick with congestion. He narrows his bleary eyes as Jeremy raises both brows in silent surprise. 

“You really believe that?” Jeremy parrots back Michael’s words from the previous day, and Michael breathes out a loud huff before flopping back against the pillows. 

“Shut up.” 

“Guess it’s my turn to take care of you.” 

Michael pries his eyes open at this, and he brushes the backs of his knuckles against Jeremy’s cheek. There’s a subtle hint of warmth indicating the presence of a lingering fever, and he frowns and drops his hand back to the bed.

“A few more hours.” Michael mutters before turning his face to the side to cough weakly a few more times. 

“What?” Jeremy asks, voice quick and more alert as the lingering grip of sleep slides away against the pit of worry growing in his stomach. 

“Rest for a few more hours, and than we can play nurse.” Michael winks, and Jeremy’s face heats up until it’s colored a bright red. 

Jeremy drops back against the pillows with a loud sigh. “You are impossible.”

“Yeah, but you love me.” 

Jeremy rolls onto his side just as Michael rolls onto his, and the two face each other. Despite feeling like utter shit, Michael beams at Jeremy, and Jeremy can’t keep the small smile from tugging at his lips.

“Yeah,” Jeremy says, reaching one hand out to cup Michael’s cheek. “I guess I do.”


	25. Boyf Riends Trapped in a Cabin ft. Jeremy Really Sick

“We’re not lost.”

Jeremy slides a skeptical sideways glance toward Michael, lips pulling into a frown when he notes the white-knuckled grip Michael has on the steering wheel. Though, Jeremy gets why, what with the blizzard roaring outside that’s making visibility but a fleeting concept. Jeremy wants to press further; he wants to tell Michael that they are very much lost down a winding road in the middle of nowhere with a survival rate that continues to plummet every time Michael’s car tires skid on black ice, but Michael looks stressed to the max and pushing the issue forward would only heighten the situation.

Instead, Jeremy drops back against the seat and crosses his arms over his chest to ward off the odd chill that’s been wafting around him since he left his house this morning. He would peg it on the atrocious weather outside, but the dull thump pounding against his temples tells him he’s most likely coming down with a cold, which is fine if they weren’t miles from civilization in a blizzard. But again, telling Michael won’t solve anything, so he clenches his jaw tightly to keep his teeth from chattering and drifts his gaze out to the passenger window.

He must drift off because an indeterminable amount of time later, he’s being gently shaken awake by a steady hand and a soft voice.

“Jeremy? Jeremy?”

A light yawn slips past Jeremy’s pressed lips as he turns his neck to face Michael. He notes with a slight frown that the car is pulled off somewhere, and he takes a moment to glance around with a question hot on his lips. “Where are we?”

Michael’s smile is small and filled with a sense of guilt that has Jeremy leaning forward and brushing one palm to Michael’s cheek, but when Michael lets out a sharp hiss and moves along the reflex to pull away, Jeremy pulls his hand back quickly with a muttered apology.

“Your hand is frozen,” Michael spits out with a sharp frown before cupping Jeremy’s hand in both of his and breathing warm breath across it to bring heat back to the icy skin.

Jeremy shudders at the sudden warmth but directs his gaze back toward the front windshield. “Michael, why are we stopped?”

“It’s too bad out there, and apparently clichés exist because I spotted this small cabin.”

The need to express that this sounds like a bad idea burns along Jeremy’s tongue, but he opts for a dose of humor to lighten the situation before expressing his reservations. “We are going to get murdered just like in those slasher flicks you like.”

Michael drops Jeremy’s hand then motions for the other with a light laugh that quickly drops away when Jeremy offers his other hand. “Jeremy, you are freezing,” he mutters with a sharp frown. “Are you feeling okay?” He asks before bringing Jeremy’s cupped hand to his lips to breathe warmth along the icy fingers.

Jeremy shrugs wordlessly, which is apparently not enough of an answer for Michael because the latter drops his hand in favor of brushing the backs of his fingers along Jeremy’s cheek.

“You’re a little warm.”

Jeremy unconsciously leans into Michael’s gentle touch, and for a moment, he can forget the seemingly dire situation the two are in as he gets lost within Michael’s dark eyes. But, a piercing gust of wind that rattles Michael’s car pulls him back to reality, and he’s quickly met with Michael’s deep frown.

“You just zoned out on me. Seriously, Jeremy, are you okay?”

“I’m feeling a little sick,” Jeremy admits under the weight of Michael’s narrow gaze, and Michael’s face scrunches up into a mask of worry that moves toward the cabin a little way off.

“We should get you inside then,” Michael says with a tone deeply colored with concern, but for a moment, neither move. The two only stare forward at the growing blizzard with sinking hearts. “Do you think you can run?”

Jeremy keeps his gaze trained ahead, just barely making out the small cabin, and nods. “Do you think it’s occupied?”

“If it is, then they are going to have some of the best company they’ve ever had.” Michael answers as his fingers curl around the door handle. “Ready?”

No, Jeremy wants to say as he nods once more and wraps a slightly trembling hand around the door handle. “Count it?”

“Three, two, one!”

Both boys shove their car doors open and slam them shut before sprinting against the snow and wind to get to the cabin. It’s not far, but by the time they reach the door, Jeremy’s lungs are burning a hole in his chest, and he’s coughing dry, hacking coughs as Michael pounds on the door with one hand while keeping his other on the small of Jeremy’s back. The two wait only a moment, and when neither are greeted with an answer, Michael tries the doorknob and gasps when it twists along with his wrist.

The two stumble inside, and Jeremy braces one hand against a wooden wall while the other is curled into a fist and pressed to his mouth as he coughs and coughs. He can faintly hear Michael struggle to get the door closed, and next thing, he feels Michael’s steady hand rubbing gingerly against his back.

“Easy, Jeremy.”

Michael’s tone is laced heavily with concern, and it pulls Jeremy in to where he silently wills his lungs to relax until his coughing finally tampers off. By the time he’s able to get a solid breath in, his face is burning hot, and he’s trembling hard from head to toe. He sags against the wall before shifting a tired gaze around the one room cabin. There’s no furniture, no fire place, no kitchen, bathroom, or anything. It’s almost as if the two are trapped in a small wooden box.

“The door was unlocked. You know that never ends well in your slasher flicks,” Jeremy mutters against a slight wheeze just as Michael steps in front of him and presses a palm to his forehead.

“You feel warmer than before,” Michael says with a low tone that wavers against the words.

“Your hands are just cold.”

“Jeremy-”

“I’m okay,” Jeremy presses with what he hopes sounds like a confident tone. He shifts the direction of the conversation back to the cabin. “What even is this? A shed?”

Michael wordlessly pulls him away from the door and the one small window and settles him against a wall as far away from the two. Michael’s just shrugging out of his jacket when Jeremy stops him with a low sigh.

“Michael, seriously, I’m okay. It’s just a small cold. I don’t need to take your jacket. You’ll freeze.”

“That coughing didn’t sound like a small cold,” Michael presses before slipping his jacket off and draping it around Jeremy’s shoulders. He takes a second to sneak his phone from the pocket before stepping away with a frown.

“Michael-”

“Jeremiah Robert Heere, shut up and keep the damn jacket,” Michael spits out before moving his phone around at all angles in search of a signal.

Jeremy purses his lips into a pout as he tugs Michael’s jacket over his head. The sleeves are long and fall past his hands, but Jeremy prefers it that way. He draws his knees up to his chest and curls around them to create a small cocoon of warmth before dropping his chin down on one knee. “You didn’t have to use my full name.”

“I do that because it always works,” Michael says almost absently as he stares hard at his phone. “I can’t get a signal. You?”

“My phone died during the drive,” Jeremy admits with a low sigh. “Sorry.” He watches as Michael drags a tense hand through his hair before pacing the small length of the cabin with his phone glued to his face. “Michael.” He tries, and when his words fall against deaf ears, he tries louder. “Michael!”

Michael stops and looks toward Jeremy with an arched brow posing as a silent question.

“Come sit with me.”

“I need to try and get a signal,” Michael says all too quickly. “What if you get worse?”

The urge to sigh loudly out of annoyance is there, but Jeremy works his hardest to soften his gaze while patting the space on the floor beside him. “I won’t. Now please come here.”

Michael is hesitant, but after a few moments of careful consideration that ends with defeat in finding a signal, he crosses the small room and drops to the floor beside Jeremy. Instantly, Jeremy leans against him, and Michael is quick to wrap a steady arm around Jeremy’s shoulders as the two fall silent.

*****

“-eremy! Jeremy!”

Jeremy jerks awake with a strangled gasp that grates hard against his raw throat. A few harsh coughs slip up his throat, and he coughs into his fist as his blinks rapidly to clear his swimming vision until Michael’s worried face comes into view. “What…?”

“You fell asleep. Your fever is spiking really bad, Jeremy. I don’t,” Michael pauses as he glances around the room. “I don’t know what to do.” He says with a trembling voice as he moves a shaking palm to Jeremy’s forehead. The heat is alarming, and Michael recoils as if he’s been burned. “Jeremy, seriously, you are on fire.”

Strange, Jeremy thinks against a muddled mind. Michael says fire, but Jeremy can only feel a suffocating ice clinging to his skin and seeping past to coat every bone in his body. The only hot part of his body is his face; it feels as if a dark lava is spreading slowly across it, and his head is pounding so hard that his entire head feels heavy. He feels terrible, to put it simply. He can’t recall a time he’s ever felt this sick, not even with the pestering presence of his SQUIP. This, he thinks, is different, and there’s a fleeting thought mixing with the delirium in his mind.

Death.

He’s going to die.

“Shit,” he mutters out in between chattering teeth. He lifts a weak hand to clutch at Michael’s arm. “Michael, shit. Michael, I’m going to die.” The words tumble off his tongue, and next thing he knows, he’s being pulled into Michael’s arms. He grips at Michael’s shirt as if it’s a lifeline and sobs into Michael’s chest. “Michael, I feel so bad. This is what death feels like.”

Michael tightens his arms around Jeremy’s shivering frame. His entire body is tense under the heat of Jeremy’s fever and the weight of Jeremy’s delirious words, and he hugs Jeremy as if his strong hold alone can squeeze the fever from the brunet’s body.

“You aren’t going to die,” he tells Jeremy despite having trouble owning up to his words.

“How do you know?” Jeremy asks, voice weak and muffled against Michael’s chest, and the small whimper of a voice tugs at Michael’s heart until he feels physically sick.

“Because I’m not going to let you. We have a pact remember? You aren’t allowed to die before me.”

Jeremy wants to tell Michael that he never agreed to that, but sleep tugs at every corner of his body, and he slumps against Michael’s chest and drifts off almost instantly.

*****

The next time Jeremy wakes up, it’s to the sound of the cabin door opening. For a moment, he thinks this is hell, but then Michael’s frame blocks the sun bleeding in from outside.

“You’re awake,” Michael breathes out against a long string of relief as he crosses the room and drops into a crouch beside Jeremy. He presses a palm to Jeremy’s forehead and frowns at the heat. “You’re still burning up. Can you stand?”

Michael’s words sound slow and drawn out, yet Jeremy knows the words are actually quick and borderline frantic. He pushes up on one elbow, only to drop back to the floor. He feels weak; he can’t support his weight because the fever is draining every drop of his energy. He shakes his head with a low groan.

“Okay. That’s okay. I can carry you.”

Jeremy squeezes his eyes shut to ward off the dizziness that comes from being lifted suddenly, but he pries them open when Michael starts toward the door. “The storm…”

“Finally stopped. We are getting out of here now.” Michael says as he carries Jeremy out the door and to his car that he has pulled up right outside of the cabin.

The amount of questions filtering through Jeremy’s head are enough to have him moaning and pressing his face to Michael’s chest. It’s only when he’s placed gently across the back seat of the car that he opts to attempt to voice his racing thoughts. “Going home?” He asks around a weak cough as he curls himself into an impossibly small ball to fight off the strong shivers wracking his slender frame.

Michael hops into the driver’s side and shoves his key into the ignition. “Nope. Hospital. I’ll call your dad the second I have service.”

“Michael-”

“Jeremiah-”

“Okay,” Jeremy groans weakly. “Let’s just go.”


	26. Jeremy Getting Mugged ft. Michael to the Rescue

Walking to school is a sacrifice Jeremy still makes, even without the SQUIP, to try and seem a little cooler than he is. He knows it doesn’t matter anymore, that everyone at school likes him now. But, small things, he thinks to himself. He still refuses to be a junior riding the bus to school, even if it is February and incredibly cold.

He hates that Michael can’t drive him, not with Michael’s parents not wishing for Michael to drive with a passenger in their car quite yet. Jeremy doesn’t understand what the big deal is, but Michael has fought tooth and nail on this, so much that his parents have threatened to take his driving privileges away. So, Jeremy reluctantly assured Michael that it was fine; the walk to school is only ten minutes after all, so he can manage, even though the icy wind pierces through his too light jacket.

Sometimes, he cuts down an alley once he reaches the square; on a good day, this will cut the time to get to school by at least a minute and a half. And, today is one of those days where he finds himself turning a sharp right down the alley because he’s frozen solid and just wants the school’s heating system. He keeps his head bowed against the wind that sneaks down the small alley as he walks swiftly, and Michael’s headphones are loud enough to mask any outside sounds. 

He’s half way down the alley when he’s shoved hard, hard enough that he loses his footing and falls forward onto his hands and knees. Years of bullying have introduced him to this sort of behavior, so annoyance takes center hold in his chest as he slides his headphones off with a huff.

“Seriously,” he starts as he whips his head around, but whatever angered response to follow shoots back down into his gut when his eyes fall onto the distinctive glimmer of a knife. Panic swells within his chest and pushes against his lungs until his chest is rising and falling in stuttering gasps.

“Wallet.”

The man’s voice is thick, gravelly, and Jeremy nods and reaches into his pocket for his wallet. It’s a fold one that’s colored black and lined with rows of Pac-Man faces; Michael has a matching one. The two had won them during a night at the arcade, a time that seems so long ago now.

He hands the wallet over, and the man flicks through the meager contents: seven dollars in ones, a few arcade tokens, a poor quality photo-booth picture of he and Michael, a condom from his brief relationship with Christine that never went passed hand holding, and a folded, crinkled paper that has his class schedule scribbled on it.

“You must have more money than this.”

“I’m a high school student without a job,” Jeremy says, voice shaking. “That’s all I’ve got.”

“That won’t do.”

Before Jeremy can offer his backpack filled with textbooks that would probably pick up a pretty penny on Amazon, he’s being kicked hard in the side, fast enough that he doesn’t have time to shield himself. He topples over with a loud groan and brings one arm up to his face just as the boot covered foot moves toward it.

He loses count after the tenth kick. His entire body is searing hot and screaming in pain, but the pain doesn’t bleed into his voice. He stays silent, only letting out hushed cries with each kick, and finally, the man gets bored and shoots down the alley, still with his wallet.

Jeremy tries to move, but every inch of his body is throbbing hot despite the steady tremors coursing across his limbs. He manages to shift until his back is pressed against the brick wall, and just that slight movement has tears leaving deep tracks down his cheeks from the burning pain. He weakly pats at his pocket and feels the familiar outline of his phone, and he thanks whoever the hell is listening that the apparent mugger didn’t ask for his phone.

*****

Michael stares at Jeremy’s empty seat; the latter hadn’t said anything on the phone last night about missing class, and the teacher is due to walk in any second now. He slips his phone out and opens Snapchat, snapping a quick picture of his face with the caption “where u at bro?” just as the teacher walks in. 

He keeps his eyes glued to his phone, where he has it hidden under his desk, as the teacher begins rambling about verbs, or something. Michael isn’t really sure anymore because he’s got a new snap from Jeremy.

A smile teases at his lips as he hunches forward and clicks to view the snap, but whatever trace of amusement he’s been housing drops to concern the second he sees Jeremy’s battered face across the screen with a caption that says, “ran into some trouble.”

He leaps to his feet, chair scraping loudly against the tiled floor. The teacher falls silent, and every single student turns toward him, but all Michael can see is the fear and pain coloring Jeremy’s eyes. He stumbles toward the door, fingers wrapped tightly around his keys in his jacket pocket, and he only stops when his teacher calls out to him.

“And just where do you think you’re going, Mell?”

“I…” He tries, unable to form words around the panic gripping at his heart. “I’ve got to go,” he manages before turning toward the door and racing out the hall. He can hear his teacher calling out to him, but he ignores it in favor of running toward his car as fast as his legs will allow.

*****

Consciousness is fleeting. Jeremy tries to keep his eyes open, but sleep is tugging at every edge. His entire body is numb, and his eyelids are fluttering against blurring vision. He vaguely hears someone shout his name, barely sees a red blur racing toward him, but suddenly there’s Michael crouched in front of him, cupping a hand to his face and speaking so fast that Jeremy can’t pick up on any word. Warm hands smooth gently over his arms and chest, and seconds later, Michael’s red jacket is being wrapped around his shoulders.

Next thing he knows, he’s being pulled to his feet, and the numbness from before drops way to emphasize pain across every inch of his body. A strangled gasp claws up his throat, and he wants nothing more than to fall back to the ground, but Michael’s arm is suddenly wrapped carefully around his waist. He’s being pulled toward Michael’s warmth, and despite how badly it hurts, Jeremy leans into Michael, and the two stumble out of the alley and toward Michael’s car.

*****

Jeremy wakes to muffled arguing. He pries his eyes open, squinting against bright lights that burn his pupils. He forces his vision to cooperate, and it doesn’t take long to catch onto that he’s in a hospital. There’s an IV stuck into his arm, and while moving hurts, it’s nothing like the pain he previously felt. He’s finding it rather concerning, though, that breathing brings a sharp pain to his sides. He assumes it’s his ribs, and the thought brings back vivid images of the man and the knife and the kicking.

His heart begins to race, if the increasing beeping of the heart monitor is any hint, and he’s only pulled from gripping thoughts by Michael’s sharp voice from the hallway.

_“I don’t care!”_

Jeremy swallows thickly and glances toward the door. He can’t see, but Michael sounds mad, frustrated.

_“Son, I understand what you are saying, but we need-”_

_“I don’t care what you need! He was mugged for fuck’s sake! Can’t he have a day to recover before you and your crew go barging in with questions?!”_

The conversation to follow is quieter, so much that Jeremy cannot hear, but moments later, his door is being opened very slowly, and Michael steps in.

For a moment, neither say a word; they only stare at one another as if in deep, silent conversation, but Michael caves, worried face breaking way to a wide expression of relief.

“Jeremy.”

Jeremy can’t feel the tears slipping down his cheeks, but Michael can see, and in just seconds, Michael is easing himself gently down onto the edge of the bed and cupping Jeremy’s cold hand in his warm one.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

Jeremy knows this; he knows he’s okay. He’s not sure why he’s crying. He’s never been too fond of crying in front of Michael. He nods, sniffling quietly, and Michael’s hand tightens around his hand.

“Sorry,” he finally gets out along a shaking breath. “I just… You know…” He doesn’t want to say that he’s terrified, but luckily, he and Michael always work on the same wave length, so he doesn’t have to say. Michael knows. Michael always knows.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Michael opts to say in hopes to lighten the mood, and Jeremy lets out a weak laugh.

“The guy got mad at me because I only had seven dollars in my wallet. For some reason, he still took my wallet.”

“Guess we will have to find new matching wallets.”

Jeremy shakes his head, a small smile pulling at his lips. This is what he needs, he thinks. A sense of normalcy. Tomorrow will bring cops. A few days later, and he will have to go back to school, where everyone will already know that he’s been mugged.

But, right now? He’s here with Michael, and his father is on the way. His body hurts, he’s short seven dollars, but Michael’s here.

He leans forward and drops his forehead against Michael’s shoulder despite the pain it brings to his sides. “Thanks for rescuing me.”

“Seems like I’ve been doing that a lot recently.”

Jeremy knows Michael is referring to the play. “You’re good at it,” he says, and Michael breathes out a deep laugh.

“Yeah? I’ll keep being your superhero so long as my superhero name is really cool. Like, a mix between Captain America and Spider-Man kind of cool.”

Jeremy looks up with a smile teasing at his lips. “So, Captain Man or Spider-America?”

Michael laughs again, lighter and full of amusement. “We’ll work on it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy :)


	27. SQUIP "Catches" Jeremy's Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s imagine that after the play, SQUIP’s presence is still prominent, but he’s not like an asshole or anything. He’s kinda just chilling, being sassy-like but not hateful.

“Jeremy.” 

Jeremy keeps his gaze locked on his computer, making it seem as if he didn’t hear SQUIP’s voice. 

“Jeremy.” 

Through his peripherals, he can see SQUIP’s hazy form manifesting into a clear image of the familiar man, and his bed suddenly creaks as SQUIP sits on the edge of it. Still, he ignores any indication that SQUIP is there, yet, his nerves have sweat sliding down his temples. 

“It’s rude to not acknowledge people.” 

The loud sigh that slips past Jeremy’s throat is interrupted by a few weak coughs. He presses his fist to his mouth as he slowly spins his computer chair to face SQUIP, yet, the harsh words sitting heavy on his tongue fade away at inconsistent glitch in SQUIP’s physical appearance. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Jeremy asks, brows pulling together as his hand falls to his lap. “Why are you glitching like that?” 

“I don’t know.” 

The frown that pulls at Jeremy’s lips is deep, prominent. “You… don’t know? But, you know everything?” He’s aware there’s a hint of fear coating his voice, but he can’t really find too valid of a reason to care that he’s showing fear, not when his supercomputer is glitching in front of him without any known reason as to why. 

“This is different. I feel different.” 

“You feel?” 

“Yes, Jeremy. I am capable of feeling.” 

Jeremy wants to argue; he wants to fight that a computer cannot possibly feel, but SQUIP’s face suddenly collapses as if waiting for…. 

The sneeze that follows has Jeremy kicking against the floor until his chair slides against the wall as far away from SQUIP as possible. The computer’s physical appearance completely vanishes against the force of the sneeze but returns with furrowed brows and a small sniffle. 

“You…. You sneezed!” 

“I sneezed.” 

Words are but a jumbled concept in Jeremy’s mind. “I don’t… Why? How? You’re a computer!” 

“Could you maybe stop the yelling for two minutes? My head feels… uncomfortable.” 

Jeremy’s on his feet and storming across the small length of his room before his mind can catch up to his frantic limbs. He stops short of the man sitting on the edge of his bed and leans in close to really study the facial features, taking careful note of the pale skin and watery eyes. 

“You’re sick,” Jeremy says, voice tipping up slightly in question as he steps away with a frown. He shakes his head and crosses his arms. “You’re sick because I’m sick?” 

“That’s probable.” 

One of Jeremy’s hands find the back of his neck just as SQUIP sneezes once more, physical form glitching away than returning as fast as a blink. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“Don’t apologize. Just get well, so I can get well. This is… unpleasant.” 

Jeremy nods slowly, hand smoothing along the back of his neck. He motions toward his bed with his free hand. “You wanna, like, lie down or something? Rest?” 

“I suppose.” 

Jeremy watches as SQUIP slides under the covers with closed eyes, and he waits for an endless moment before turning sharply on his heel to retrieve his phone from his computer desk. He  _has_  to text Michael. Now. 

[To: Michael]  _dude. DUDE. apparently SQUIP can get sick??_


	28. "Take my coat. This rain isn't going to do you any favors." Ft. Sick Jeremy and Caretaker Michael

Michael’s class always goes over– always. In a perfect world, he and Jeremy would get out at the same time and be able to grab some coffee and walk back to their shared dorm together, but Michael’s professor has no concept of time. None. Not an ounce. 

The thin, pointy teacher never shuts up; she yammers on and on, well past the time class ends, and she doesn’t appear to notice– or doesn’t care– that many students are packing their bags or eyeing the door. Nope. She just keeps going, and by the time she finally catches the hint, Jeremy is already back at the dorm, leaving Michael rushing back alone as the sun dips below the horizon. 

Despite being March, with Spring lingering around the corner, it’s cold– not cold enough to snow but still cold enough to be a nuisance. Michael pulls his jacket closer toward him as he hunches his shoulders and hurries across campus toward the dorms. He doesn’t have a single text from Jeremy, not that he’s too surprised. 

Jeremy’s been swamped with homework, and Michael can see the visible fatigue clinging to his boyfriend with each passing day. He comments on it; he always comments, but Jeremy brushes him off, stating there’s nothing to be done because work comes first. 

Michael’s worried, but he doesn’t show it aside from the light-hearted jabs at the dark circles colored under Jeremy’s eyes. Instead, he offers silent support; he brings food, drinks, blankets, pencils, whatever Jeremy may need as he sits hunched over notebooks and textbooks. 

Michael’s anticipating another long night, so he swings by the coffee shop before heading back to the dorms. He expects to see Jeremy at their shared desk when he opens the door, but it’s pitch black, and he almost trips just as he flips the light switch when his foot gets tangled in a backpack strap. 

“Shit,” Michael hisses, stumbling forward but managing to keep his balance without spilling the coffees. “Jer-” he starts, name falling off slack lips as he takes in the trembling, buried lump on Jeremy’s bed. 

“Jeremy?” Michael tries again, setting the coffees on the desk and taking a careful seat on the edge of the bed. He places a gentle hand against the lump, frowning at the sharp shivers jolting his palm. “You okay?” 

There’s a long, frustrating pause before Michael catches a soft, raspy “no.” 

“He lives,” Michael jokes, drawing out the latter word.

“Shut up.” 

“Sorry,” Michael says against a breathy laugh. “Seriously, though, what’s wrong?” 

Instead of a verbal reply, Jeremy shifts and rolls over until he’s on his back and poking his head out from the mound of blankets, and Michael can only gape at him for a solid minute before finding his voice. 

“Shit.” He mutters, tone almost holding that of a whisper. Jeremy’s frighteningly pale, and his already thin face looks almost hollow. His cheeks are a burning red, and his skin is damp with sweat despite the strong trembles shaking the whole bed. 

“You’re sick.” An incredibly stupid statement– Michael knows this. But, it’s the best he’s got because he hasn’t seen Jeremy this sick in a long time. 

“Flu,” Jeremy supplies with a weak cough. “My lab partner had it.” 

“We should go to the clinic.” 

“No.” 

“Jeremy-”

“I don’t want to go,” Jeremy spits back before falling into a coughing fit that’s got him sitting up and wincing. 

Michael’s not sure what to do. He keeps one hand to Jeremy’s covered knee and watches on with furrowed brows as Jeremy coughs and coughs until finally catching his breath after a solid minute. 

“I think that fit there all but secured your trip to the clinic.” 

“Michael-”

“Why do you not want to go?” Michael questions with a frown. “We’ve gone before, and you know I’m more than happy to take care of you, but I need some reinforcements here, Jer.” 

Jeremy drops his gaze, panting lightly, still from the fit. “They are going to get on to me for not getting the shot.” 

“I thought you got the shot?” Michael vaguely remembers Jeremy saying he was going off to get the shot– vaguely. 

“I lied.” 

Michael considers asking why, but the quick flash of fear that colors Jeremy’s eyes has him keeping quiet as he slowly nods. 

“I’ll go get medicine,” Michael starts. “We’ll keep you here, but if you get worse, we are going. Got it?” 

Jeremy nods weakly and lies back down as Michael slowly gets to his feet and starts toward the door. 

*****

For the next four days, Michael skips class and holes up in his room to take care of Jeremy. He’s not too sure what to do, to be honest. Jeremy’s the one who’s good at this stuff– not Michael. But, Michael still gives it his all. 

He gives Jeremy medicine and tea, helps him walk to the bathroom, spends hours pulling blankets away and returning them minutes later when the fever chills come back, rubs his back through gripping coughing fits, monitors his temperature, tries not to panic when his fever spikes for a few hours, and applies cool, damp towels to his forehead as per his request– all while losing sleep thanks to a forceful twist of anxiety that’s settled in his stomach since he first checked Jeremy’s temperature. 

Yet, it’s enough because on the fifth day, Jeremy is up and slipping on clothes while Michael dozes at the desk with his head pillowed on his arms. 

“Michael.” 

Michael jerks up and almost falls out of the chair as he whips around to see Jeremy shrugging a cardigan over a light sweater. “You’re up!” He stumbles to his feet and moves toward Jeremy, placing one hand to the brunet’s blessedly cool forehead. “Your fever’s gone!” 

“I feel better,” Jeremy starts with a smile. “Thanks to you.” 

“Why are you getting dressed?” 

“I woke up with an intense need for coffee,” Jeremy says, raking his fingers through his disheveled hair. “And one of those mystery muffins.” 

Michael spares a glance out the window to the cloud covered sky. “You’re sure you are feeling up to this? I can go-”

“I’m fine,” Jeremy interrupts with an all-too-familiar sigh that has Michael reaching for his jacket with a smile. 

“Glad to see you back and alive,” Michael says as the two slip out the door. 

“Glad to be back and alive.” 

*****

It’s five minutes into the walk when it starts to rain. It’s not much, but with the cold wind, each drop whips against the two. Jeremy crosses his arms, hands hugging his elbows as a shiver pulls up his spine, and the cold air’s just enough to irritate his chest. He coughs, only twice, but it’s enough to have Michael stopping in his tracks and slipping out of his jacket. 

“Michael-” Jeremy tries to protest, but Michael ignores him. 

“Take it,” Michael orders as he holds out the jacket. “You’re still getting over being sick, and this rain isn’t going to help.” 

“But you’re-”

Michael cuts Jeremy off by taking it upon himself to drape the jacket over Jeremy’s lightly trembling shoulders. He’s aware that he’s only in a thin long sleeve, but Jeremy’s more important– always has been and always will be.

“I’m good,” Michael says, almost too casually. “I’m not the one who just fought a boss battle with the plague.” 

Jeremy tugs the jacket tighter around his slender frame as the two start walking. “It was just the flu.” 

“Thought I was gonna lose you, like, five times.” 

“Impossible,” Jeremy says with a breathy laugh. “I had a healer on my team.” 

Michael laughs, a bright sound that almost shoves the rain away. 

“You are such a dork.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'll go back and correct grammar errors eventually, lol. 
> 
> My tumblr UN is @toosicktoocare if you want to drop by with a request! (Or follow- that would be cool too, lol)


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